Betrayer
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: In light of Illidan Stormrage's unethical actions, heroes seek out the forbidden truth about the Betrayer's dark past; but what they unveil may threaten all of Azeroth (rated T). Set during the Legion expansion
1. Reveling in Sewage

**(AN: _Legion_ has pissed me off in a way that no WoW expansion since _Mists of Pandaria_ has ever done! That's the bad news. The good news is that they have motivated me to write. So, after one origin story that wasn't crap [in my opinion, at least] I'm hurling my Warcraft story into the present state of the game.)**

 **(A few canon characters are appearing, and, unlike Blizzard, they will actually act in character! Blizzard owns [and ruined] them. Prepare to meet new OCs, and be reacquainted with a few from the last story. Not sure where I'll go as far as ratings go, but I will warn you of this: _Legion_ 7.2 will be spoiled, as well as some things from Antorus and the pre-events for the upcoming _Battle for Azeroth_. Also, my version of events will deviate from the official story in several ways, which you shall soon see.)**

* * *

 **Reveling in Sewage**

The floating city of Dalaran sat high above the Broken Isles, a forest of marble and violet spires reaching upwards into the sky. Long had it been the bastion of magical education and higher learning in the Eastern Kingdoms. Thousands of years of knowledge mystical and arcane, gathered by the brightest minds of elf, man, and dwarf, had been stored and taught in the Violet Citadel. Some years ago, the Burning Legion, a vast demonic army intent on destruction and chaos, and invaded the world of Azeroth and destroyed the city of Dalaran. In the years that followed, the surviving members of the Kirin Tor, the magocracy that ruled Dalaran, rebuilt the Violet City and with their magic raised it up into the sky.

Now the Burning Legion had come again to lay waste to the world of Azeroth and succeed where they had failed before. Dalaran, once an exclusive home to the mages of the Kirin Tor alone, had since opened its doors to those who had joined this second war against the Legion. As such, it had relocated to the Broken Isles, the very doorstep of the Legion's point of invasion into the world. For months on end, heroes and adventurers of both the Horde and the Alliance had been summoned by the Kirin Tor to stand together against the threat of the Legion. Now, however, doom hung in the very skies of Azeroth. A fourth object appeared in the skies, moving along a similar course as the sun and the two moons. Rumors spread that this new moon, glistening green and black in both the night and the day, was Argus, the world of the Draenei that had been corrupted by the Burning Legion.

No longer separated by the vastness of the Great Dark Beyond or the chaos of the Twisting Nether, doom now glowered like a shadow over the heads of all in Azeroth.

In the city of Dalaran, in the Legerdemain Lounge, Melissa Redmane gazed up at the distant shining object that was Argus, before returning to her wine. It was not her usual fare, being both a mother and a priest. But strange things had happened on Argus lately; strange things to which she had the privilege - or misfortune - of witnessing firsthand. It was on account of those things that she partook of the blood of grapes. Tea would not suffice, and she detested the taste of beer. As for her husband, Tharbin Redmane, in whom she always confided every secret of her journeys, by and by, she dared not even involve him in these matters. What had happened still shook her to the core, casting long shadows of doubt upon everything she had believed in since she was a little girl.

 _No_ , she thought to herself. _I would never dare to cast doubts on his faith. Let his faith still be strong, for himself, for our children, and for me._

Her thoughts were disturbed by a sudden cry of agony and a crash coming from the other side of the lounge. Instinctively, she took her staff - the mortal beacon of the Naaru T'uure - left her table and made her way across the lounge as fast as she could, her doubts dissipating in the time of urgent need. Several patrons were gawking and pointing towards a table on the outer side of the lounge, which had been turned over about the same time that the cry had sounded. Some others around her were crying for the Kirin Tor security mages to come into the lounge and restore order, while yet others were knowingly calling out for a healer. Only she dared to walk forward.

Behind the table, lying face up on the lounge floor, was a human magician. He had the stench of fel magic about him, which was recognizable even without those powers the Illidari possessed to detect the demons they hunted. His clothes were dark and his staff, lying on the floor beside him, had a macabre likeness carved into its head. His eyes were burning with a fel, green light, and lines of green were appearing around his mouth and nose.

"It's okay," she assured the warlock as she knelt down beside him. "I'm a priest, I'm here to help you."

At first the man didn't speak, but cried out unintelligibly, his body convulsing as the green lines spread across his body. Melissa's hands hovered over the man's body, a soft glowing halo coalescing around them as she whispered softly prayers to the Holy Light. Suddenly she halted, for she noticed that the man's right arm was almost completely devoured by green lines. Pulling up the sleeve of his robe, she saw several particularly nasty cuts in the man's arm, some of them having already scarred over but quite a few looking to have been newly made: each one was glowing with fel energy. She did not know entirely what was going on, but guessed that these scars were the cause of his pain. But as she began to pray over them, the man's right hand seized her wrist.

"Don't...take away...my power!" he gasped through the pain.

"What are you saying?" Melissa asked, thinking that the man was delusional in his agony. "These scars are infected with fel magic. They need to be healed or you'll die!"

"I...am...my...scars!" quoth the warlock.

Melissa tried to reason with the pained warlock, but he refused any treatment. Suddenly, behind her came the sound of several loud pops as Kirin Tor mages teleported into the lounge. She had scarely turned about when a tall Night Elf unceremoniously pushed her aside, walked over to the dying warlock, and drove the blade of a war-glaive into his throat, taking off his head. The Night Elf then knelt down over the body of the warlock, grasping his wounded arm. A green light burned around the Night Elf's hands, then it disappeared and the Night Elf stood up: there were no more green lines on the warlock's body.

"You shouldn't have done this, human," the Night Elf said to Melissa. Condescension and disdain dripped from his voice, especially in the way that he said 'human.'

"I couldn't just let him die," she retorted.

"Fools like him think they can control the fel," sneered the Night Elf demon hunter. "They must pay the price for their foolish assumption."

"Isn't that what you Illidari do?" asked Melissa.

The Night Elf scowled. "You know nothing about our struggles, foolish human woman! Our suffering, our sacrifices!"

"Watch your tone!" a Draenei male in the crowd stated. "You're speaking to the High Priest of the Conclave of the Light!"

"Bah!" the Night Elf scoffed in return. "Titles mean nothing to the Illidari!" Though his eyes were blind-folded, the way he turned his face towards Melissa made her aware that he was addressing her. "What have you sacrificed, stupid little human?"

Perhaps it was anger at recent memories, doubled by the likeness of the arch agitator standing before her, mocking her, preening like a brightly-feathered cock; but the normally calm and level-headed Melissa rose up from her place, eyes blazing with holy wrath.

"I've given up years of my children's lives," she returned angrily. "To protect the people of Azeroth from harm!"

"You call that sacrifice?" scoffed the Night Elf.

"Alright, that's it!" a Kirin Tor mage shouted at Melissa. "Break it up!"

"But he killed that man!" Melissa said, pointing to the dead warlock, who was now being carried away by a levitation spell cast from one of the Kirin Tor mages. "There was still a chance that he could be saved!"

"By order of the Council of Six," the mage that addressed Melissa said. "The Illidari are allowed free reign to act in accordance to their own judgment throughout the city. We can debate these rules outside, if you wish to challenge them."

The light in Melissa's eyes dimmed, and she noticed out of the corner of her eye the demon hunter grinning smugly. It filled her with great disgust, the arrogance in that grin. But she contained herself: she was not one to start conflict, nor had she a mind to lodge a complaint with the Kirin Tor against the Illidari. Instead, she turned and returned to her seat as the demon hunter left the lounge and the mages urged everyone not to panic and to return to their beverages. But Melissa Redmane could not simply continue drinking, once she returned to her table. This incident had brought back to her mind the images of the past several months, especially what she had seen on Argus. She could not let out of her mind the image of the namesake and former leader of the Illidari.

The demon Illidan Stormrage.

* * *

It was many years ago when she first became aware of him, the one the Night Elves called the Betrayer. He had been some kind of tyrant in Outland, the ruined remains of what had been Draenor, ruling over the Illidari and their demonic servants from the Black Temple of Karabor. She had been part of the group of warriors from the Horde and Alliance that saw to the siege of the Black Temple and the slaying of Illidan Stormrage. Now, at the behest of the naaru Xe'ra, whose heart-piece had been interred at her diocese, the Netherlight Temple, she had taken part of a great quest to bring Illidan back to life.

Furthermore, Xe'ra had revealed to her mind secrets of Illidan's ancient past, how his beginning down the dark path had been in search of power for himself, and how it had come at the cost of his own allies. Nevertheless, Xe'ra had excused these dark and heinous acts, saying that they were done out of desperation, for the greater good, and for his unrequited love of the leader of the Night Elf Sentinels, Tyrande Whisperwind. However, the visions did not tell the whole story: they did not tell how Illidan went from a Night Elf to the horned and winged demon that now squatted in the Vindicaar above Argus, nor how he had come into possession of the Black Temple. It seemed that a great deal about this elf, who had been given unilateral freedom by the Council of Six - or, to be more precise, by its head Khadgar - to act as he pleased throughout the campaign against the Burning Legion, had not been revealed by the naaru Xe'ra.

Now, however, the voice of the Prime Naaru was silenced forever, by Illidan Stormrage. No more secrets could she reveal. But still Melissa Redmane had questions.

Slowly she made her way out of the Legerdemain Lounge, making an ambling line towards the Greyfang Enclave, where a portal to the Netherlight Temple awaited her. She needed to clear her head after the incident in the lounge. She had hoped the Draenei hadn't spoken up the way he had; using her place as the High Priest of the Conclave of the Light to assert power over other people was not to Melissa's liking. The glory of kings and heroes, and the power and influence that came as a result, was never her desire, even as a little child. Even the arbitration that she had to undertake, as High Priest, was more than she could handle. Three children were nothing compared to the constant bickering of the three denominations of the Conclave of the Light: the traditionalists of the Church of the Holy Light, to which she herself belonged, as did the many priests and prelates in Lordaeron before the Third War; the Cult of the Forgotten Shadows, a group of areligious malcontents who worshiped darkness and believed that the mysterious Void-lords were the most powerful beings in the universe - powerful enough to corrupt the naaru, beings of the Light, and to strike fear into the hearts of the Burning Legion; and lastly, the Order of the Balance, so-called intellectuals who viewed both the Light and the Shadow as nothing more than magic, no different to the arcane powers wielded by mages, and that each could be wielded hypostatically.

As High Priest, it was her unfortunate task to arbitrate the union of the Conclave, despite each of the three denominations considering the other to be utterly heretical and diametrically opposed. So great was the pandemonium caused by the three opposing sides that Melissa relished the times she could get away from Netherlight Temple, usually a place of peace and meditation. Such was the cause that brought her to the Ledgerdemain Lounge, her favorite establishment in Dalaran; but now, in the wake of what had happened, she decided that she could evade her responsibilities no longer and so turned her course towards the Greyfang Enclave.

* * *

Presently she approached the entrance to the Enclave, which stood next to the entrance to A Hero's Welcome, the Enclave tavern reserved for members of the Alliance in Dalaran. As she was about to turn into the Enclave entrance, out of the corner of her eye she caught a familiar face approaching her.

"Redmane!" Leshara exclaimed. "Blessings upon you!"

Melissa smiled as she saw the Draenei warrior approach her. They threw their arms around each other, though Leshara was head and shoulders taller than Melissa; who was not below the normal height for a human woman.

"Leshara!" Melissa returned, as they parted. "What brings you back to Dalaran?"

"I needed a drink," Leshara replied. "And knew of no better place than A Hero's Welcome. Would you care to join me?"

"I was just leaving the Legerdemain Lounge," Melissa stated. "Having finished my wine..."

"Wine?" Leshara chuckled. "I never knew you to be one to consume the blood of grapes. What would your children think of you?"

Melissa rolled her eyes and let out a small chuckle. "It's been a long day. Still, seeing you here makes me want to have a drink with you. We haven't spoken since the assault on the Tomb of Sargeras. We have so much catching up to do!"

"Without a doubt," Leshara returned with a nod.

The two walked into the Hero's Welcome and found themselves a seat at one of the tables. A tiny gnomish waitress approached the table and, after casting a small levitation spell to get herself above the table and at their eye-level, took their orders. Melissa ordered a warm cup of ginseng tea - a favorite of Xingwei's - and Leshara a bottle of Four Winds Soju, an alcoholic beverage native of Pandaria and one that she had grown accustomed to during her time on the island.

While they waited for their drink orders, the two of them caught up on what they had been up to since the assault on the Tomb of Sargeras. Leshara had, without hesitation, answered the call of the Light to join the army that would assault the emerald light in the sky of Azeroth; her ancestral homeworld of Argus. For the most part, she spoke of the battles she had with the demons that infested the shattered remains of her planet. In all of their talk, neither of them spoke about what had happened on the Vindicaar, though they had both been present during those events.

After a while, their drinks arrived and they began to take their fill. For a moment, any worry and doubt were lost and forgotten. But it would not be for long, as Leshara took a break to open the bottle and pour out herself another cup.

"I'm not drinking too much right now," Leshara said. "Though I will certainly be drinking a lot more later." She sighed. "It is very difficult for me, to walk among familiar highlands that are no longer familiar. You know, my family's estate was in the azure-grasslands just south of Mac'Aree. Now there's nothing left of it but ruins. Fields I used to play in as a child are gone, burned and blackened by fel-fire. It is like coming home, only to find it all wrong, all... _man'ari_."

"I know what you mean," Melissa somberly added. Many years ago, when the Dark Portal was opened, she had the opportunity to return to her village in the Hillsbrad Foothills after returning there by way of Southshore. The village was a ghost-town; houses of wood and stone and lyme crumbling, rotting, fallen into decay, and not a soul left alive. Only the graveyard remained, where the body of her mother and Father Preston lay in the ground. When the Cataclysm forever changed the face of Azeroth, she learned later that what was left of the village had been torn down by the Forsaken and the graves exhumed. She dared not to think about the whereabouts of the remains of her mother or the old priest, especially since the Forsaken, like the Scourge, cared not for the sanctity of the dead; cannibalizing remains for food or to replace lost limbs, or reanimating such corpses that were in better condition.

Turning away from such macabre thoughts, Melissa's mind instead rested upon what had happened on Argus that they had both witnessed.

"Do you remember what happened," she began. "When we returned Xe'ra's heart to the rest of her form?"

Leshara's blue lips curled into a frown. "Yes, I remember."

"I've been thinking a lot about it," Melissa replied. "Have you thought any about what happened?"

"Yes, I have," Leshara added.

"And? What are your thoughts?"

"I think," Leshara returned. "That Illidan is a fool thrice over. He is a fool to reject the healing of the Light that Xe'ra offered him, and again to destroy the Prime Naaru! How could the Prophet allow such a thing to happen? And how could he forbear the High Exarch from smiting Illidan down for his blasphemy?"

Melissa nodded with a sigh. "I am inclined to agree with you, Leshara. But was it not Illidan's choice whether to accept her healing or not?"

Leshara shook her head. "I forget how young you _vrachei_ are, Redmane. I have lived many long years, as many as the _kotikei_. I have seen many grim defeats and many fruitless victories. In all of this I have learned this one truth: that what the Naaru say is best is best, though all the peoples of a thousand worlds say otherwise."

Melissa mused on this quietly for a moment. The whole concept of the Naaru being the embodiment of the Light was a bit over her head, but she gave them as much respect as she had given the voice she had heard that day in the glade outside her village (a Draenei anchorite, several years ago, had told her that perhaps that voice, the voice of the Light, had come from a Naaru).

"The Naaru exist beyond the mortal world," Leshara continued. "What they see as the greater good exist outside of our limited mortal understanding. In this way Illidan is limited; though he is a _kotikei_ and blessed with long life, he is still mortal. And a fool thrice over for his mockery of the Prophet Velen! Our exodus from Argus was not cowardice, but an exile that saved us all. Better that a few should live than all of our race should be consumed by the fel."

"Some might say such thoughts are final and cruel," Melissa argued, though she did not truly believe so.

"I have seen many lives born on Draenor, in our travels through the Great Dark Beyond, and here in Azeroth," Leshara mused. "Those lives would not have come into being were it not for such 'cruelty.' That 'cruelty' is because of the intervention of the Naaru, and we would no longer exist if not for such 'cruelty.' That is what Marion the _dastrei_ and Varlaine and their order understand."

"But Xe'ra was so certain that Illidan was the chosen one," Melissa stated. "So sure that he was the 'Child of Light and Shadow', the one to end the age of demons. And now she's dead. Was she wrong? Was the Light wrong?" To say those words felt like the hammering of the nail into the proverbial coffin.

"You should know this better than I would," Leshara replied, letting out a frustrated sigh. "You know my faith hasn't been very strong, not since the Orcs destroyed my people on Draenor."

"Then what's the answer?" Melissa asked. "The things Xe'ra showed us, she spoke very highly of Illidan, excusing every horrible thing he did in the War of the Ancients. I would ask her, but she is no more. Who then shall we ask about him?"

"Surely there must be others who knew him," Leshara stated. "His brother, the Arch-Druid Malfurion Stormrage, might provide some insight about him. That might be a good place to start our search."

"' _Our_ search?'" Melissa asked.

"I'll be joining you, of course," Leshara replied. "I know as much of Illidan Stormrage as you do. I too wish to know who he is and why he refused the gift of the Light's healing."

"But don't you have your duties on Argus to fulfill?" asked Melissa.

Leshara sighed. "I...I would rather not discuss it now. Suffice it to say that I have spoken with High Exarch Turalyon and have permission to return to Azeroth."

"Are things going so well," Melissa asked. "That they can afford your absence?"

"Things are at a stand-still," the Draenei stated. "But I will not say more. The Legion has many spies in the city of Dalaran. I for one do not trust the Council of the Black Harvest: they are in league with the demons, no matter what Khadgar and that little goblin that leads them may say."

Melissa let out a grim chuckle. "You don't need to tell me. There are even some in the Conclave who I do not trust, though they have never openly worshiped demons the way the Black Harvest does. But come now, where shall we go to find Arch-Druid Stormrage?"

* * *

 **(AN: I played through a good deal of "The Hunt for Illidan" quest-line in _Legion_ , and was appalled that Xe'ra defended Illidan's amoral actions as necessary [and surprised that Blizzard didn't turn the retcon hammer over to his deeds from _Warcraft III_ and _The Frozen Throne_ ]. But then, because the writers demand that Xe'ra do a 180 [because making good actually evil is SO bloody original!], suddenly she has a problem with him being corrupted by the fel [which was _his_ choice, and chosen for power, not to destroy demons or for Tyrande, no matter what Feronas Sindweller might say!] and tries to force healing upon him.)  
**

 **(That was one of the reasons I started writing this story: pure frustration at what Blizzard did on Argus. Also, well, we're introducing other characters who will be part of my stories in the future. Leshara I created as my first Alliance alt back when I upgraded from classic to _Burning Crusade_ [because, back in my day, we had to buy each game individually]. I chose Warrior instead of Paladin because I was playing at the same time _Hellgate London_ [before it was shut down], so since I had a Paladin on there, I chose Warrior. I also chose Draenei female because, well, the Horde was full of Blood Elves and I had never seen a Draenei female before. Eventually my brother also started playing _World of Warcraft_ and she became his main.)**


	2. Unforeseen Problems

**(AN: The title of this chapter comes from what happens every time Illidan does anything: he says that everyone else is blind, but he cannot [or chooses not to] see the consequences of his actions or what they will cost.)**

 **(Not only does this title apply to Illidan, but to the whole idea of "let's get all the classes together", because a few noobs with artifacts are going to do what the Alliance and Horde couldn't do together; except that they did do just that last time. The repercussions of the shortsightedness of the Kirin Tor, you'll figure out soon enough)**

* * *

 **Unforeseen Problems**

Even while they were discussing and making plans, a night elf priestess wearing a white robe ran into the Hero's Welcome and approached their table. She bowed in respect to both of them, then turned to Melissa.

"High Priest," she greeted. "Thank Elune I've found you. You must return to the Netherlight Temple at once. There's been an incident that requires your immediate attention."

"Again?" Melissa sighed. "Very well, Elyssa. I'll be there at once." Melissa took up her staff, then turned to Leshara. "I'm sorry, I have to attend to this."

"I understand," Leshara nodded. "Meet me at Krasus' Landing when you're done. We'll talk to the stable-masters and fly down to Val'sharah together. If I am not mistaken, Stormrage should be there."

"I'll see you there, then," Melissa said, then rose from her place and followed the night elf Elyssa out of the Hero's Welcome and into the courtyard of the Greyfang Enclave. To the right and up a flight of stairs they passed, coming to a room in the tower where several mages kept stable a portal to the Netherlight Temple. Immediately the two entered the portal and the tower vanished in a swirl of light and color. The marble and violet colors vanished, turning instead to the pale, ethereal colors of the interior of the Netherlight Temple.

This holy place had originally been a prison for a being that had since been purified and redeemed; now it served as the meeting place for the Conclave of the Light. Usually it was a place of peace and serenity, where prelates of both the Light and shadow came to rest and meditate. Apart from home, it was the one place where Melissa felt at peace and content, for here she was close to the Light: the closest she had been since that day in the glade in the Hillsbrad Foothills.

Today, however, it was not so. As soon as the swirling died down and her head stopped spinning, Melissa saw the Netherlight Temple in disarray and disorder. It seemed as though the entire population of the Temple was divided down the center in two groups; one side was dressed in light colors - gold and white - and the other in darker, shadowy hues of black and deep, violet-blue. Each side was arguing violently with the other, and in some places it had come to blows: fists, staves, and flashes of light and shadow clashed as the more aggressive of the two groups made their aggression known physically. It looked like the streets of Dalaran all over again.

* * *

Melissa practically ran across the hallway from the landing where the portal had placed her down into the Hall of Order in the center of the Temple, then slammed the end of her staff onto the floor: a burst of holy light spread out around her. Those nearest to her were either thrown off their feet or stumbled back in shock, while those farthest away saw the burst of light and ceased all other activity, their attention now on the returned High Priest. A deathly silence fell upon them all as she made her way slowly down the stairs, eying both groups.

"We are called together," she said. "To work as one against the Burning Legion. And, by the Light, I will not have chaos in my church!"

"And who are you to tell us what to do?" an undead dressed in violet sneered. "You're a human, and a servant of the Light!"

"Were you not a human in life yourself, Talen?" a Tauren in sand-colored robes decked with white and gold interjected.

"I left my humanity behind long ago, along with my allegiance to the Light," the undead retorted, then turned back to Melissa. "I answer to the Dark Lady and the lords of the Nameless Void, not to some self-righteous human b*tch and her impotent masters!"

Melissa turned towards Talen the undead priest, her eyes glowing white with holy light, her left hand extended while her right gripped tight her staff. A small circular spot of light appeared upon the putrid, grey-blue flesh of the rotten thing, who gritted his blackened teeth in defiance. Melissa walked towards him, and the small spot of light grew larger and brighter. Talen could not remain standing and collapsed to his bony knees, quivering and moaning in fright.

"If the Light is impotent," Melissa asked. "Why are you powerless before it? Let your false void-gods save you now, if they can!"

"Injustice!" a Dwarf with gray skin, a long, thick, black, ember-flecked beard, and red, smoldering eyes, roared. "You are no high priest! Let us choose a new high priest, one who will not show favoritism and judge us fairly!"

"You want a servant of Shadows, you mean!" a tiny Gnome retorted.

"Bah!" another undead scoffed. "Chaos take you filthy living scum!"

"We are supposed to be working together," the Tauren who spoke first interjected.

"I won't work with any Alliance scum!" the undead shouted. "I barely tolerate you damned cattle-folk!"

"Silence!" Melissa shouted again. The nova of light burst again from her, silencing those around her. Talen fell flat on his face before her feet.

"I would speak with the leaders of the dissenters," she said. "Then I will make a decision to bring this conflict to an end."

Elyssa then walked among the two groups and called out four members from each of them. The large Tauren and a human were brought from the light side, and from the dark side a woman with olive skin. Talen she approached, who refused to answer the call and instead spat in Elyssa's face, then hobbled off towards the Sanctuary of the Void. Elyssa led the three who did answer the call up to where Melissa stood, while a Pandaren and another undead approached clandestinely from behind. She introduced the three prelates who had answered the call: Morn Lightcloud, Brother Darius, and Natalie Seline.

Melissa listened to each of them in turn as they described what had happened. Apparently there had been a great deal of consternation over the past several days, over a matter of allocation of the resources of the Conclave. According to Morn, there had been some dispute between the Church of the Light and the Cult of Forgotten Shadows.

"We discovered," Morn said. "That they were buying immunity within their respective cities with our order's resources."

"It is no different than what you have done with yours," Natalie interjected. "Oh, pardon me, did I say 'buy immunity?' I meant 'collect tithes.'"

"Natalie!" Melissa interjected.

"Do not deny it!" she retorted. "Your precious Church of the Light is widely accepted among both the Horde and the Alliance. Your little racket is publicly legal and acceptable, is it not?"

"The devout give of their increase willingly," Brother Darius interjected. "We do not cajole or manipulate our members to give all their life's worth to us, unlike your cult!"

"Bah!" scoffed Natalie. "If you valued piety as much as your precious Light said, you wouldn't need to beg for alms. Doesn't your Light provide for your needs?"

"And why does the Shadow need money?" Brother Darius replied. "What good will money do when all is devoured by your darkness and void?"

"You're a simple-minded imbecile!" Natalie retorted. "You know nothing!"

"That's enough, both of you!" Melissa interjected. "You know that our resources are meant for the war against the Legion. I have refused to make any personal use of our resources, whether for myself or for the Church of the Light, in any way that would damage the Order of Balance or the Cult of Shadows."

"Nevertheless," Brother Darius interjected. "There is a more immediate threat than the conflict between Light and Shadow: despite what the Council of Six has ordered, that does not change the fact that Azeroth is not united."

"Truly," Melissa nodded.

"The Horde and the Alliance may have been broken by the Legion at the Broken Shore, but they were not destroyed," Brother Darius said, speaking in tones of fearful respect. Those about nodded their heads in silence, and Melissa wiped her eyes with her fingers: on that fateful day, she had nigh widowed Tharbin and left her dear children without a mother. Ever in her mind, the events of the Broken Shore reminded her of the danger she faced in her service to the Alliance.

"Even now," Brother Darius continued. "Tensions between Greymane and Windrunner are higher than ever. Not since the Cataclysm have our nations been so close to the brink of war. Though we have been asked by the Council of Six to cooperate, there are many who have used the armistice to further their own political ends."

"It is just as the Shado-pan have always said," a new voice spoke up. The Pandaren and the undead now approached the small circle.

"Yalia Sagewhisper," Melissa greeted. "Do you have something to add?"

"Only that Taran Zhu and the Shado-pan were correct," Yalla said. "Your kind know only violence. Even in the face of annihilation, all you can think about is your race-wars."

"I speak for myself," Morn spoke up. "And for others in the Horde and the Alliance, when I say that we've had enough of your condescension!"

"I only speak the truth," Yalia sanctimoniously replied.

"Morn is right," Melissa intervened. "We cannot work together if we remind ourselves of our differences. I have traveled among the Pandaren for some time, and there is much they can learn from us about tolerance."

"I will not be lectured on tolerance from a hate-filled human!" Yalia retorted. "And a member of the Alliance! How can you expect to have balance with someone like you in charge?"

"Tch," scoffed Natalie. "A servant of the Light speaks of balance!"

"Excuse me," Melissa interjected. "Am I not the High Priest here? I still have the floor!" The others started at her voice being raised in anger: it was unusual for her, as was her outburst against Talen, but years of dealing with arrogant adventurers and the rigors of an endless conflict between the Horde and the Alliance had hardened Melissa Redmane since the Third War.

"Now then," she continued, once she had their attention. "While I am a member of the Alliance, it is my part to arbitrate what goes on within the confines of the Netherlight Temple. I would be obliged to report any future altercations to the leaders of our factions. It would be most unfortunate if a thorough investigation was carried out by either side; things could get very complicated."

"Impressive!" Natalie grinned. "I didn't think threatening people was becoming of you, High Priest."

"It's not a threat," Melissa retorted. "It's the reality in which we live. If either the Horde or the Alliance had any idea that the orders the Kirin Tor had united to combat the Legion were subverting the armistice to further their own ends, we'd all be in for a world of trouble."

"The Horde will continue to serve its part in this war," Morn stated. "We will honor our agreement to fight the Legion."

"Make sure that the other members of your Horde do likewise," Brother Darius replied. "Some of them are less trustworthy than you Tauren."

"Likewise," Melissa said. "We will not let past grievances jeopardize what must be done. Do we have an understanding?"

"Agreed," Brother Darius nodded.

"Now then," Melissa said. "If there is nothing else to be said, I ask that you would please be about your business. Except for you, Natalie; I have but a moment to spare and I would speak with you before I leave."

"As you wish," Natalie responded.

Brother Darius and Morn saluted, then went about their way. Yalia lingered, though seemed to take a step or two back, as if she was silently observing rather than actively engaging in conversation. The undead approached Melissa, who, upon seeing him approach, inclined her head before him.

"Your Eminence," she greeted.

"Do not bow to me, High Priest," the undead dismissed.

"It is you who should be High Priest, Archbishop," Melissa sighed. "All this political upheaval, arbitrating three different denominations who all want to kill each other, not to mention an armistice between the Horde and the Alliance, when both of our people are on the brink of war with each other..."

"Your kind are always at war with each other," Yalia interjected.

"Thank you, Sagewhisper," Melissa said. "That will be all for now." Yalia bowed, then walked away slowly. Melissa sighed, then turned back to the undead that had, in life, been Archbishop Faol.

"Do you see what I mean?" she asked. "Just a few moments ago, I lost it with Talen."

"He can be quite a trial," Alonsus stated.

"You..." she sighed; even in death, the Archbishop still possessed a measure of his comforting aura. "You always have a way with people, you always did. I'm not cut out for this, I see it now. Everything that's happened - years of healing for the Alliance, the war against the Legion, being High Priest, this battle on Argus - it's revealed a side of me that I never knew existed. I feel...broken. My faith in the Light has been shattered."

"My child," Alonsus said. "These reasons are precisely why you are the perfect choice to be High Priest. The brokenness that you have felt is necessary to embrace the Three Virtues. Only by the breaking of pride can one respect her fellow men and women. As for your faith, trust that the answers will be given in time. Or, at least, that is how I would have answered in life. As you know, I have moved beyond mere light and shadow."

"I know," Melissa nodded. The memory of what had happened on Argus came fresh into mind. She wondered if she should reveal it to the Archbishop: was there still left enough of the man that had led the Church of the Holy Light for him to provide wisdom, counsel, and compassion? Or had his obsession with discipline and the balance of light and darkness broken what was left of Alonsus Faol? If it was the latter, would his words then break what remained of her faith, speaking instead in favor of the new ways of the Kirin Tor? The ways of doubt and disbelief, of distrust in the Light and faith in the Shadow.

The old undead hobbled away, leaving only Natalie and Elyssa remaining. The Night Elf bowed as though she would leave, but Melissa beckoned her to stay, then turned to Natalie Seline.

"I trust that...um, everything has been kept safe, then?" she asked.

"Don't beat around the bush, sister," Natalie said, rolling her eyes. "You want to know if I've been writing in my old book again, don't you?"

Melissa nervously cast her eyes this way and that. "It's supposed to be a secret."

"Whatever," Natalie sighed.

"Well, did you?" Melissa asked. "You know I can't have you losing control, not with everything else falling around about our heads here and on Azeroth."

"If it makes you sleep easier at night," Natalie said. "Then you can choose to believe that I haven't touched the _Secrets of the Void._ "

Melissa sighed; this seemed to be the best and only answer that she'd ever get out of a servant of darkness. As she had learned from various sources, servants of the Void were not to be trusted and often told lies in order to get their way and make the unwary believe what they wished. She dismissed Natalie, though she doubted that there was any truth in her words. Once she had dismissed her, she turned to the Night Elf Elyssa and led her over to a secluded place away from all others.

"For a mortal," Elyssa said. "You've handled these people rather well."

"I wish," Melissa sighed. "Now, then, I haven't got much time. I have to be out of here and return to Krasus' Landing. I have an assignment for you while I'm away."

"I stand ready," Elyssa replied.

"I want you to investigate the members of the Horde and the Cult of Shadows," Melissa said. "I want to know if the Horde has been using our resources to fund their war effort. As for the Cult of the Forgotten Shadows, I have reason to believe that the servants of darkness will be more active now than ever. I want to know what they're doing and how we can respond if they act in a way that is threatening to us."

"And who do you mean by 'us?'" Elyssa asked.

"All of us," Melissa said. "I don't know what the priestesses of Elune believe in, but compassion is one of the Three Virtues of the Church of the Light. Not just for the servants of the Light, or the Alliance, but for everyone." She sighed.

If what she had seen in Argus was truth, all life on Azeroth and elsewhere was now in danger.

* * *

 **(AN: Yay for racist Pandaren! But, seriously, that was what I took away from _Mists of Pandaria_ , that the Pandaren call everyone else a racist, while being racist themselves, all the while behaving among themselves like hobbits. Really big, furry, Chinese hobbits. Since we're on the topic of silly things, Talen was a parody and satire of the _WoW_ machinima vloggers, particularly Taliesin. Aside from how unnaturally enthusiastic he was about the dopey sperm-elemental Shaman class mount [or shay-man, or shammy, as he and all of you a-holes call it - PS i've mained one since _Wrath_ and i'm sick of your stupid mocking pet-names for shaman!], he worships Sylvanas and the void-lords and is one of the fanboys who performs more mental gymnastics than a social justice warrior in their attempts to say that Jaina is a dreadlord, Sylvanas, Illidan, and Garrosh are perfect little saints, and every time the game lore tells us not to trust Sylvanas, that it must somehow be actually talking about Jaina. I couldn't do it in my last story, but in the following stories, there will usually be some random undead character who will basically be a literary punching bag for me to eviscerate in fiction all the negative aspects of the _Warcraft_ fandom.)**

 **(Now on to something more serious. Here we see Melissa several years after the events of _Beacon of Light_. She's a lot less patient than she used to be, since she has been on the front-lines of war and has been put through a lot of stress in her role as a healer. Also being High Priest forces her to have to balance between the shadow-mongers and paragons of the Light, though she herself is more Light-bound. It's not a fun job of collecting order resources and poking Li Li Stormstout.)**

 **(Just as an aside, while Melissa may be High Priest, the other characters that I have and will introduce aren't the leaders of their respective classes [though you kind of have to be in _Legion_ ])**


	3. Brother Against Brother

**(AN: I mentioned this in my last story, but one happy thing that is going to be in my stories at least once is the two gnomes dancing on a table. This came from when my brother and his ex-girlfriend played _World of Warcraft_ as two gnomes. It was adorable! Now we'll get to see them as part of the story.)**

* * *

 **Brother Against Brother**

Lights shone in the upper room of the tower in the Greyfang Enclave, as Melissa Redmane returned from the Twisting Nether to Azeroth, her business aboard the Netherlight Temple concluded. Elyssa was her right-hand, and was generally able to maintain order in her absence: initially she had wished for Calia Menethil, the daughter of King Terenas, to act as her deputy and second-in-command. After all, as a loyal citizen of the old Kingdom of Lordaeron, Melissa respected the former princess, regarded her with as much respect as the former Archbishop, and secretly wished that she would lead: not merely as her second-in-command among the Conclave, but in a restored Kingdom of Lordaeron.

She had expressed her desires to Calia once upon a time, who politely turned down the offer. Though Lordaeron lived on in the survivors, spread throughout the Alliance since the Third War - though admittedly small in number from the destruction of Theramore carried out by Garrosh Hellscream - it was a lost kingdom. The Capital City was in ruins, and the banshee queen Sylvanas Windrunner ruled the old kingdom from the Undercity. Already she had proven to be a formidable opponent to Gilneas, and the only other foe that posed any meaningful threat to her rule, the Scarlet Crusade, had been broken by years of battling the Scourge and the Forsaken as well as internal "purges." Now, however, there was word that Sylvanas had been made Warchief of the Horde: with the full might of the Horde at her disposal, Sylvanas would suffer no rival, whether secret or public. Calia knew this and had explained as much to her, and it was for this reason that she had made no claim on the throne of Lordaeron upon resurfacing.

With these in mind, Melissa swiftly descended the stairs of the tower, then passed through the entrance of the Greyfang Enclave and made her way into the streets of Dalaran. Once it had been a great and formidable place; a place of learning and knowledge, feared and respected throughout the Eastern Kingdoms in the time of its greatness. Even though the mage-city floated in the sky - high, lofty, elevated, aloof, and detached from the world - it had changed. Melissa couldn't quite place her finger on it, as she had never visited the city before the Third War, when it had been destroyed by the Burning Legion. Perhaps it was merely the disappointment of the tales she had heard in the wide-eyed days of youth being dispelled by the reality of what the Kirin Tor and Dalaran had come to in these dark times.

She made her way through the streets of Dalaran, paying little attention to those about her, save for a small Draenei child. She had lost her parents when the Rakeshi Legion had attacked the Exodar, and now was on the streets of the Violet City. She stopped momentarily to give her a few gold coins and say a prayer of blessing to the Light upon her. After this, she ducked into a shop to pick up a few supplies for the journey. When all this was done, she returned to her path towards Krasus' Landing.

The site of Krasus' Landing had originally been the Gates of Dalaran, when it sat upon the ground in the hills far away north from Melissa's home village. Those gates had been destroyed by the Undead Scourge during the Third War, and when Dalaran had been rebuilt and levitated, the place of the gates had been made a landing for air-bourne mages and messengers: it was renamed for the mage Krasus, who was secretly the red dragon Korialstrasz. Now it served as the primary hub of all Kirin Tor operations on the Broken Isles; Deliverance Point had been decommissioned once the fight had been taken to Argus. As such, it was always very busy with all the traffic to and from the isles, both on the landing and in the air above it. The stables were also kept here, and a great deal of smell also rose up among the noise, making the landing a noisome and terrible place to spend any significant amount of time.

Melissa did her best to squeeze through the press of people coming and going about the landing. Most of the traffic, thankfully, was moving towards the golden-bronze beacon near the farther end of the landing; this would transport those standing nearby it up to the Vindicaar on Argus above them. The stables were also that way, and off to the right, the southern end of the landing, and therefore Melissa was able to go with the flow of traffic and make her way thither easily. She tried her best to stay among other members of the Alliance, for though there was an armistice between the Horde and the Alliance, little incidents were prone to happen: furthermore, Melissa still had a dislike for the Orcs, as they had always haunted her dreams since their armies had invaded Lordaeron during the Second War.

Halfway to the beacon, she began pushing her way through the crowds towards the stables, where she saw Leshara waiting for her next to the stable-master. No sooner Melissa broken through the press that she saw two Gnomes standing near about Leshara's hooves: a mage in blue robes, a tall-peaked and wide-brimmed hat of blue, and wearing curled and waxed whiskers and a beard upon his chin, both of which were dark of color; the other Gnome was a bit shorter than the other, though still technically an adult by Gnomish standards, and was clad in armor, with a close-fitting helmet about the face, and clad in the violet colors of Gnomeregan.

"There you are!" Leshara greeted. "You certainly took your time getting here. I thought you had gotten lost along the way."

"No, not yet," Melissa replied. "And who are these with you?"

"You remember Bartie Manafizzle and his ward, do you not?" Leshara asked.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance again, good human!" the mage, Bartie, greeted with a bow of his large head, causing his hat to tumble off his head. The armored Gnome giggled, and Bartie picked the hat back up and placed it dramatically back onto his head. "Leshara ran into my ward and I, and once we learned that the two of you were on an adventure, we thought we'd tag along with you."

"Isn't the Kirin Tor busy these days?" Melissa asked.

"Well, yes," Bartie replied. "But, well..." He hesitated for a moment. "...you see, well, I have permission to leave."

"Is that so?" Melissa asked. "Funny; that was the same reason Leshara gave for why she's not on Argus."

"Truly?" Leshara exclaimed. "What a remarkable coincidence!"

"Yes, it is," Melissa said with a knowing smirk.

"Well, what can I say?" Bartie returned. "Our fight against the Legion has been going well enough that we have plenty of down-time." He let out an uneasy chuckle.

"Are we ready to get under way, then?" Leshara asked.

"Right away," Melissa said.

The stable-master had readied for them their mounts. Leshara rode a strange thing that looked like a armored proto-drake: that is to say a creature of dragon-kind, but with a thicker body, shorter limbs, and larger head. The two Gnomes climbed into a rickety looking flying machine, while Bartie made some last minute examinations of the vessel to make sure it was air-worthy: tightening of a few screws, readjusting a few pipes, and making sure the engine had enough oil for the trip. For Melissa, a large creature of owl-shape was prepared for her: its head and wings were those of an owl, but its body was closer to that of a gryphon, with a longer mid-section and large fore and hind-legs. This was a Seeker, one of the servants of the Titan Watchers, cleansed and purified by the Holy Light. Even as Melissa reached out her hand to grip the saddle and pull herself up onto its back, the creature seemed to glow with light.

Bartie Manafizzle turned the key in the ignition, a cry came up from owl and proto-drake, and the three took off into the sky. No sooner had they left Krasus' Landing but they turned north, towards the main part of the Broken Isles. High up here the air was thin and cool, and the speed of their mounts and flying machine was such that they squinted into the wind as they flew: Bartie placed a pair of goggles upon his eyes, which at least kept the wind out of them.

* * *

As they passed the spires of the Violet City, the heights of the Broken Isles rose up before them. Immediately their attention was drawn northward, to the impossible heights of Highmountain, where the moose-antlered Tauren lived at Thunder Totem: of all the high places Melissa had seen in Azeroth, only Mount Hyjal and the Storm Peaks of Northrend were taller. At the bottom of the mountains the glistening magic-shield that protected the Night Elven city of Suramar shone. In that dreadful place Melissa Redmane had spent many a long day, hidden under the enchanted guise of the magic-addicted Nightbourne, as she helped the dissenting Nightfallen. To the east the high mountains dwindled down towards the lands of Stormheim, the only place outside of Northrend where vrykul could be found. To the west, the forests at the end of the Aszunian coast thickened, climbing up the slopes of the mountains until they gathered about the tall trunk of Shaladrassil, the giant tree that served as the physical entrance into the world of the Emerald Dream.

It was towards this great forest about the tree that these adventurers made their way. Below them, the forests began to grow nearer and nearer, and the cold upper air became thicker and warmer. Further south, along the Aszunian coast and around Suramar, the climate was warm and growing almost all year along. But in Val'sharah and Stormheim, the colder winds from Northrend made the climate cooler than the lower lands. They passed into the shadows of the trees, making their way towards the little village of Lorlathil. The rush of wings and the roar of the flying machine's engine disturbed the tranquility of the peaceful village, as they came to a rest upon a small hill at the northern end of the village.

Leshara and Melissa handed the reins of their mounts to a Night Elf who tended the stables in Lorlathil, while Bartie and his ward climbed out of the flying machine; Bartie removed the keys from the ignition and stowed them in a magically-enhanced pouch that hung from a strap about his shoulders. Melissa asked the stable-master if Malfurion Stormrage was in Val'sharah.

"Shan'do Stormrage has been meditating in the Grove of Cenarius for several weeks," the stable-master said. "Just a mile north of here. He's been in seclusion ever since the Nightmare Lord was defeated."

"We need to see him," Melissa said. "It's quite urgent."

"I've heard about you, human," the stable-master said. "Weren't you of the party that rescued Shan'do from the Nightmare Lord?"

"Yes, we are," Leshara added.

"He would be willing to make time for you," the elf said. "I hope you know the way?"

"We've been there before," Leshara replied. "We know the way."

"Wait a minute!" Bartie interjected. "Are we really walking to the Grove of Cenarius? It takes us a bit longer to get there than you two ladies; some of us don't have such long legs."

"Our legs are none of your concern," Leshara retorted.

"Oh, you know what I mean," the Gnome flustered. "Isn't there some faster means of travel that we could use, so that we all arrive at the Grove together?"

"I'm afraid provisions haven't been made along the way," Leshara said. "Your...addition to our party was unexpected."

"It's alright," Melissa interjected. "I'm sure these Night Elves would be willing to loan us one or two of the nightsabers from their stables. As long as we promise to return them, that is."

"A nightsaber is no substitute for a mechano-strider, in my book," Bartie stated. "Still, it would be better than walking. Alright, do as you will. But don't hesitate to make arrangements next time."

Melissa then spoke to the stable-master again and asked if they could borrow two nightsabers for the journey by land to the Grove of Cenarius. Maybe it was because of her fame in assisting the High Priestess Tyrande in her defense of the Temple of Elune, or that she had saved Malfurion from the Nightmare Lord, but the Night Elves were more than willing to let them borrow nightsabers for a very low price. The stable-master and one of her assistants adjusted the saddles on the nightsabers: they were made for use by the Night Elven sentinels, who were taller than Melissa, but only a little shorter than Leshara. They had no saddles small enough for the Gnomes, and so they clung to the backs of Leshara and Melissa and rode with them.

"Just promise us," the little Gnome warrior squeaked. "That you won't start galloping, otherwise we'll bounce off."

The two ladies mounted their nightsabers with ease, then the stable-master and her assistants helped the little Gnomes up onto the backs of the nightsabers, where they clung to the backs of the riders. Leshara had a large back-pack upon her back, and so the little ward could only grab onto it with her tiny, stubby fingers. Melissa, meanwhile, reminded Bartie that she was married and wouldn't permit him to take advantage of her while clinging to her back.

"Not to worry," he said. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The two set off on their nightsabers at a steady pace, following the road northward out of the little village. They were in no hurry, and for the present, the day was beautiful beneath the trees. The two Gnomes whistled or hummed merrily, each their own tune, while Melissa looked this way and that at the trees with contentment. She had been in many forests in her time, despite having been told by her parents that the woods were a dangerous place to explore, especially alone; and few forests could compare to those in which the Night Elves had lived, according to her opinion. Yet here in the southern half of Val'sharah, the woods seemed to be less shadowy and more peaceful, unlike the ever-dark beneath the trees of Ashenvale Forest. Leshara, however, was uneasy. Years of fighting had left her constantly wary, even in situations of peace. She also looked about the boles of the trees about them, not in contentment and peace, but in watchfulness.

* * *

Within a fair amount of time, the quartet arrived at the peaceful Grove of Cenarius. No sooner had they passed under the shadow of the two trees standing at its entrance, but they dismounted. The grove was peaceful, serene, with only the distant sound of running water in a stream somewhere further in the woods for sound. Slowly Melissa walked forward into the glade, down a narrow sward of grass that ran through the midst of a shallow pool of water. The grass was soft, but there were many large roots that grew up through the ground and disturbed the path. Yet she made her path carefully and so did not slip into the pool, nor trip over the large roots.

As she came closer to the center of the grove, Melissa noticed the form that had, previously, been almost completely obscured among the branches of the trees. A figure was kneeling in the center of the grove, swathed in a great cloak that had the look of gray owl's wings. The head was covered in thick, mossy hair, as green as the grass of the grove and the leaves of the trees, that fell down over its shoulders; the top of the figure's head also was crowned in great antlers like a stag.

"Shan'do Stormrage?" Melissa spoke up. "We heard that you might be here. If you please, we would ask for a little of your time."

Her voice, after the silence of the forest, sounded loud and jarring in her own ears. The wind blew through the branches, letting out a soft hiss as the leaves were shaken. The figure slowly began to rise, until it reached its full height, standing a little taller than Leshara, even without the antlers. Slowly and deliberately the Night Elf turned around and faced them, discerning the four figures with his silver-white eyes.

"Greetings, friends," Malfurion greeted. "How might nature help you?"

Melissa had never seen the Archdruid Stormrage during the Third War, but had seen him during her adventures in Val'sharah recently. Then his voice was filled with anger at the devastation and corruption caused by the Nightmare Lord. Now his voice was calm and soothing; she was reminded of what people had said of Alonsus Faol, while he yet lived and was Archbishop of the Church of the Light. For a moment, she was at a loss for words, and cast her eyes down from the towering Night Elf in order to regain her thoughts.

"We have some questions for you, Shan'do Stormrage," Melissa said. "Particularly about your brother, Illidan."

The violet face was darkened by a shadow, and beneath his leafy-green beard his lips curled into a frown.

"What can I tell you about him?" he asked. "The Kirin Tor have seen fit to have him amid their deepest councils, despite my warnings. They have made him a leader in their fight against the Legion, with no heed to what cost they might pay because of it; a cost that we all will share in time."

"I understand..." Melissa began.

"Do you, indeed?" Malfurion interjected. He chuckled ruefully. "But you are very young. As is Khadgar, though his body was aged before his time. Not for nothing is Illidan called 'the Betrayer.' Yet, against my warnings, the leaders of the Kirin Tor have taken him into their confidence!"

"That's what we were hoping to learn from you, Shan'do," Melissa said. "We wanted to know about Illidan, and why he is called Betrayer."

"Tyrande told me about what had happened with the so-called Light's Heart," Malfurion said. "That Xe'ra would make excuse for the things that Illidan did is outrageous! Does not your Light teach respect, and yet Illidan did not respect his brothers in arms?" He sighed angrily. "And my brother has the gall to speak of sacrifice! Yet he cared nothing for the sacrifices that were made in the War of the Ancients, when we drove the demons from this world ten thousand years ago!"

"What do you mean?" Leshara, who along with the Gnomes had followed quietly along behind Melissa, spoke up.

"It was Illidan who created the second Well of Eternity at the summit of Mount Hyjal," Malfurion said. "By stealing the magical waters of the first well, he created a way for the demons to return to this world. In this he betrayed everything that we fought and suffered for! All of our sacrifices, the destruction of our empire, the great loss of life, the Sundering of the world; it was all in vain, thanks to Illidan! For this cause he was imprisoned beneath the Barrow-Deeps by the Wardens."

"Maiev Shadowsong?" Leshara asked. "She was his jailer?"

"Yes," Malfurion said. "No doubt she grew weary of his company, hearing him endlessly moaning and crying about how much he had sacrificed, how unjust he thought we were, all of us, for imprisoning him! But there were other reasons that she grew to hate him, reasons more...personal. It would be best if you heard it from her, as I was not present when she first followed him to these isles."

"When was this? Melissa asked.

"When he was...released," sighed Malfurion, hanging his head.

"Released?" Melissa asked. "Who released him?"

"Tyrande," Malfurion replied. "Do not misjudge me, mortals. She is a wise and powerful leader, who has guarded and protected our people for ten thousand years, while I and the druids were asleep in the Emerald Dream. But in this alone was she mistaken, for she made the same mistake that your Kirin Tor have done; she entrusted the fate of our world in the hands of the Betrayer, heedless to the consequences of setting him free!"

"What consequences?" Melissa inquired.

"After he was freed," Malfurion continued. "Illidan absorbed the Skull of Gul'dan..."

"But that happened a few months ago," Leshara interjected.

At this, Malfurion sighed. "I speak not of that Gul'dan, freed from the past by the interference of Garrosh Hellscream! Forgive my impatience: I respect all life, but I cannot understand the mind of Taran Zhu and the leaders of the Horde and the Alliance! Had not Garrosh caused enough suffering? His crimes were known to all; he should have been imprisoned immediately, and not been given an opportunity to spread his lies. Very much like Illidan was this Garrosh, as I have heard, in some ways."

Leshara also sighed, Melissa hung her head, and Bartie uttered a curse beneath his breath. Narrowly had Melissa and her family been spared the destruction of Theramore, which had been caused by order of Garrosh Hellscream. Leshara, as a Draenei, hated the Orcs, and as a warrior of the Alliance, had been at the forefront of the escalation of conflict between the Horde and the Alliance in the latter part of Garrosh's rule as Warchief. Bart Manafizzle had also had less than friendly encounters with the Horde and no love was lost among him and his ward.

Of the trial for Garrosh's war crimes, only Melissa knew what had been said, and that only a report from Gar Earthwalker. In brief, Garrosh had been allowed to speak by the insistence of the Shado-pan, but what he had said was foolish excuses for his crimes. Brazenly and without shame had he levied blame for his own actions upon the other leaders of the Horde; and no one received more ire and more blame from the murderous wretch than Thrall, his predecessor. Thus it was that, even as the lies of Sylvanas' non-involvement in the Wrathgate Incident were now widely believed by all within the Horde and only a few in the Alliance, so the lies of Garrosh also were believed as truth by the majority of those in the Horde.

"From what Thrall had told me of the history of his people," Malfurion continued. "There was another Gul'dan, who was responsible for the corruption of the Orcs on Draenor."

"Bah!" Leshara scoffed. "I have lived through the old Horde, and I saw Garrosh's Iron Horde. While Gul'dan might have corrupted the Orcs with the demonic powers of the fel, he is not solely responsible for their savagery and brutality. That is their own doing!"

"We know," Melissa interceded. "I was there with you, when we fought the Iron Horde on Draenor. You needn't explain yourself to us, or to Shan'do Stormrage." She then turned back to Malfurion. "Please, continue."

Malfurion nodded. "From what Thrall told me, during the Second War, there was strife and disunity among the Horde. Gul'dan abandoned the Horde while they were invading Lordaeron, and sailed westward, to these shores. There he raised the southern islands up from the sea, in search of the Tomb of Sargeras. From what I have learned, Gul'dan died within the tomb and his body was ripped apart, but his skull was infused with great demonic energy. How it came to be in Felwood I am not certain; Tyrande and I did not arrive until Illidan had absorbed the skull, and by then it was too late. He had betrayed his nature and became a demon; that is the form in which you now see him, no different than any of Sargeras' lieutenants!"

"Um, pardon me, sir," Bart spoke up. "But you also have antlers and wings and bear-claws upon your hands and feet. How is that any different from the wings, horns, and hooves of Illidan?"

"Panders, be quiet!" his ward squeaked. "You're speaking to an elder!"

"Don't call me 'Panders!'" Bart said, turning back to his ward.

"Please, excuse him," Melissa interceded yet again. "He is a member of the Kirin Tor, and doesn't understand the differences of powers. To him, fel is magic, no different than arcane or holy magic, or even the powers of nature!"

"Understandable," Malfurion said. "The younger races have always been so short-sighted when it comes to the subtleties of what they call 'magic.'"

"Yes, they are," Leshara stated.

"Oh, my apologies," Malfurion replied. "I had almost forgotten that some of you Draenei are much older even than us."

"Yes, we are," Leshara added. "It angers me that Illidan all but spat in the face of the Prophet Velen! He had no right to sit in judgment over him!"

"I agree," Malfurion added. "If only that the Prophet has my deepest respect. What did Illidan say?"

"He mocked the Prophet," Leshara replied. "He called him a coward and a traitor, claiming that his faith in the Light made him weak, that he allowed Sargeras to overthrow Argus and corrupt our people!"

"That sounds like Illidan indeed," Malfurion sighed, shaking his head. "He never had respect for any authority, whether it be the moon goddess or Cenarius. Yea, even Elune condemned him for his crimes."

"I understand," Melissa said. "He destroyed the naaru Xe'ra when she tried to heal him from the fel."

"A betrayer is as a betrayer does," Malfurion sighed. "Illidan forsook the path of the light long ago, he is now a servant of the fel and shadow."

"Can he not be redeemed?" Melissa asked.

"Only if it was his decision," Malfurion said. "Even as Thalyssra and the Nightfallen chose to forsake the Nightwell. But Illidan always defied every authority, and would never admit that he had done wrong, even in the face of death."

"Truly," Melissa said. "He defied the Light and refused healing. He almost seemed proud of the demonic corruption within his body. I remember he said: 'I am my scars.'"

"This is whom the Kirin Tor have invited into their midst and taken into their confidence!" Malfurion exclaimed. "He has never changed, precisely because he still does not see how he is wrong!" The Night Elf then looked down at Bart, who quivered under the silvery glance of the Archdruid of Moonglade.

"You want to know the difference between my power and Illidan's?" he asked. "Nature gives us the power of growth and renewal, while the fel only destroys and corrupts. Nature preserves all life, while the fel would see all of this world destroyed. The fel is a lie; it offers great power, but will destroy all in the end. My ages of sleep have caused my form to take the aspects of the creatures of the forest, but oneness with nature has not been a corruption."

"This still sounds like a matter of semantics," Bart stated.

"Perhaps," Malfurion replied. "But the results of Nature shall speak for themselves better than my words. As for Illidan, his presence among the Kirin Tor has threatened us all. Even now the world of Argus hangs in the sky above us, thanks to Illidan. The heroes of Azeroth have let the eyes of Sargeras into their very midst."

Melissa did not ask a question, her thoughts drifting back to the events of Argus. The death of Xe'ra had shattered her faith in the Light. But more so, she was wondering about what his 'scars' were, and why he was so adamant to keep them. The answers for these questions, it seemed, lay with this mysterious Skull of Gul'dan. She had to know more about it and what had happened when Illidan claimed it.

"What else can you tell me about Illidan?" Melissa asked. "If what you say is true, then the Kirin Tor should be warned!"

"They will not heed any warning," Malfurion sighed. "As for Illidan, there is much more that you could learn about him from others besides me. Maiev Shadowsong could wear your ears long with the story of her hunt for Illidan. But what you seek, the knowledge of the skull, that I cannot give. Only those who fought alongside him in Felwood know what truly happened, but they are dead."

"How can we communicate with the dead?" Melissa asked.

"There is a way," Malfurion said. "The spirits of our people linger in the darkness of the woods as wisps. Their voices cannot be heard by mortal folk, but a druid could commune with them and learn their secrets."

"Can you not talk to them for us?" asked Melissa. "We need to know what happened with Illidan and the skull."

"Alas, I cannot," Malfurion apologized. "There are still pockets of the Nightmare corrupting the forests of Val'sharah, and the threat of demonic invasion on the isles is still great. My duty to safe-guard the land keeps me busy. But do not be afraid, for there are those who might help in my stead."

"Who are they?" asked Melissa.

"The druids of the Cenarion Circle," Malfurion said. "They reside in the Dreamgrove to the north, near the roots of Shaladrassil. If you can gain an audience with one of them, perhaps they will help you. But it is dangerous for those who are not druids to walk the Dreamgrove."

"Why is that?" Bart asked.

"The air naturally tends to make one drowsy," Malfurion replied. "But fear not, for I will provide you with Nature's blessing, which should give you some protection from the effects of that place. I caution you not to spend too much time there, for the air of the Dreamgrove will bring you to sleep in time."

"Understood," Melissa said, inclining her head. "Thank you, Shan'do Stormrage."

At Malfurion's request, the four of them knelt down. The tall Night Elf placed his right hand upon the forehead of each of them in turn, though he did have to kneel down for the Gnomes, who also stood up for him to reach their heads. As he touched their foreheads, he spoke a few words in Darnassian. After he spoke to Melissa, her nose was filled with the scent of trees after the rain; Leshara smelled the cool, aromatic scent of the yfir trees of Argus. For the Gnomes, they smelled rich earth and hearty pines of Khaz Modan.

* * *

 **(AN: I'm quite sick of the majority of the _WoW_ fandom who kiss up to Illidan and hate anyone who doesn't kiss his ass also [such as Tyrande, Malfurion, and Maiev]. Unlike the rest of you, I actually liked them [well, Tyrande and Malfurion, not so much Maiev, but more on that later]. Also I can't stand the people who make fun of Tyrande for her concern for Malfurion during the Val'sharah quest-line. I'm sorry that a straight couple actually, you know, loves and cares for each other, unlike all the propaganda on television! Also, that she chose to leave him behind and save the Temple of Elune says something about her devotion to the goddess and her people [which will be addressed later on in this very fic].)**

 **(Based on that not-so-subtle jab at everyone's favorite novel _War Crimes_ , you can tell that i don't like it and don't support any of its conclusions [like blaming Baine Bloodhoof for the destruction of Theramore]. More on that and the complete lack of personal responsibility in Garrosh and Illidan later in this story [i promise you]. Also, you can flame me all you want, but i know for a fact that Sylvanas was responsible for the Wrathgate. And I don't even have to reach as far as the "Jaina is a dreadlord" fan-theory and its supporters have to, because the classic-WoW lore stated that Sylvanas' allegiance to the Horde was out of convenience [which is why her concern for life and Horde patriotism in the Broken Shore scenario/ _Legion_ are so OOC], and she was set up to be the one creating the new plague to unleash upon the undead and the living in the _Arthas_ novel and the pre-Cataclysm quests in the Plaguelands and Tirisfal. But, like with Illidan, she became too big and beloved by the fans for them to follow through with the story-line they created for her, so all that was 86'd for P.J. Matheson's saw-blade growl voice and making her an innocent little misunderstood you-know-what.)**


	4. Questions

**(AN: This chapter's rant is once again about Blizzard. I was really bothered about the lore retcon that went on during _Legion_ , particularly regarding the Broken Isles. Suramar is a big one for me, but Val'sharah is another one [also the tiny detail that these islands were raised from the sea in _Warcraft 2: Tides of Darkness_ and yet people have apparently been living there for 10,000 years].)**

 **(Speaking of _Legion_ and lore-rewrites, I hated how they made Sargeras a whiny little coward who, for some reason, thinks that the only way to stop the void-lords is to destroy the universe, which is exactly what the void-lords want. My version of Sargeras' fall is similar to that found in the _Warcraft 3_ manual, just with the Eredar replaced with the Annihilan pitlords.)**

* * *

 **Questions**

After they had received Malfurion's blessing, they expressed their thanks and then traced their steps back to the entrance to the grove, where their nightsabers waited for them.

"So where will we go first?" Leshara asked. "Dreamgrove is to the north-west, but Maiev Shadowsong will most likely be on the island of the Wardens, on the south of the Aszunian coast."

"Whatever our course should be," Bart stated. "We should return these nightsabers." The large panther turned its head towards the Gnome: if it were wild, it could easily swallow the little Gnome with ease. He eyed the panther nervously as it looked at him. "Uh, not that there's anything wrong with them, of course! Only, well, the Isle of the Watchers and the Dreamgrove are miles away. It would be easier if we flew than walked or rode, is that not true?"

"Yes," Melissa nodded in reply. "Leshara, maybe we should part ways for the moment. One of us could seek out the druids, and the other Maiev. We could meet up somewhere later and tell each other what we've found."

"That would work," Leshara said. "I would like to have Bart come with me. It's always best to pair a warrior with a spell-caster."

"What? No!" protested the little ward. "I don't want to be separated from him."

"Trust me, you'll be fine," Bart said to his ward. "From what I've heard, this human is very competent. You'll be in good hands."

"Well, if you say so," the ward sheepishly answered.

"Very well, then," Melissa asked. "Where shall we meet up after we're done?"

"I'd rather not go back to Dalaran just yet," Leshara said.

"Nether do I," Bart added.

"Well, what's closer between the Dreamgrove and the Isle of the Watchers?" Leshara asked.

"Not exactly there," Melissa said. "We may have to pay a visit to Felwood, once we've found a druid to speak to the woodland wisps."

"Well, that makes things easier!" Leshara sardonically replied with a slight chuckle.

"Not precisely," Bart spoke up. "If you and my ward seek out the druids and Leshara and I seek out Maiev, I can teleport us to any location of your choosing once our work there is done."

"Excellent!" Melissa smiled. "How about Ratchet on the coast of Kalimdor? It's between the two places, more or less."

"I'm not exactly very trusting of the goblins down there," Leshara said. "But, it is the closest place that isn't Dalaran. Very well, Ratchet it will be."

The small group made their way back from the grove to Lorlathil. The stable-master was most pleased that they had returned the nightsabers without incident, and helped them with their mounts. Bart Manafizzle had no need for help, for he would be flying behind Leshara in his flying machine. Melissa helped the tiny ward onto the back of her owl-seeker, while Bart climbed into his flying machine, starting it up as Leshara and her proto-drake took off into the sky above Lorlathil. Once the rickety machine lurched upward, Bart looked back at the owl-seeker, and waved goodbye to his ward. As he was looking back, he half-guessed that he saw a figure behind the trunk of a nearby tree.

 _Oh well,_ thought the Gnome. _It's probably nothing. In these Night Elf forests, there are always things hiding behind the trees._

He had no time to ponder it, for Leshara's proto-drake mount was far and away and he had to peddle faster to keep the gyros for the propeller going just to keep up. Shortly, they had passed over the tree cover, and the little Gnome placed his flying goggles over his eyes, then opened the throttle. The flying machine lurched forward, buzzing loudly as it sped towards the dwindling form of Leshara's proto-drake.

Below them the forests of Val'sharah passed swiftly by, dwindling on downhill until they came to the eaves, where the Aszunian coast began to appear. The trees began to fade around them, and they could see for miles below them, all the way to the small, sparsely wooded Isle of the Watchers. The Wardens had established a base on this island when Maiev Shadowsong came here to hunt Illidan Stormrage. Since her disappearance, it was established as an extension of the Warden's authority throughout the now expanded Night Elven lands, increased when they joined the Alliance. Powerful enemies were once again imprisoned here, as they had been in the Barrow Deeps in Kalimdor, and after Illidan's supposed death at the Black Citadel of Karabor, his followers were also imprisoned here.

It only took them as much time to reach the Isle of the Watchers as it had to fly from Dalaran to Lorlathil. Bart was the last one down, bringing his flying machine to land just left of Leshara's drake. As he climbed out of the cockpit, he was immediately met with a tall, stern-looking Night Elf looming above him. Her face was masked, but the little Gnome could detect suspicion even without seeing her eyes. Quickly looking about them, Bart saw several other Night Elves had approached them, and one of them was standing before Leshara, her ringed blade in hand.

"What business have you with the Wardens, Draenei?" the Warden asked Leshara.

"Please, we mean you no harm, nor do we seek to thwart your hunt," Leshara said; she had had dealings with the Wardens before and knew how to address them. "My companion and I seek an audience with your leader, Maiev Shadowsong. I do not see her here among you."

"Mistress Shadowsong is not here," the Warden replied. "She has gone to the Tomb of Sargeras. I advise you not to seek her out there."

"Why not?" Leshara asked.

"It is her custom," the Warden replied. "To go out alone to the Tomb of Sargeras. It has been this way ever since she came back from Outland, after her hunt for the Betrayer ended in success. What she does there she has never told us, nor have we dared to ask. As one who is neither a Kal'dorei nor a Warden, it would be most unwise to disturb her during this time."

* * *

Meanwhile, the owl-seeker flitted deftly between the boughs and branches of the trees in the forests of Val'sharah. As the miles passed, the forests around them became darker and darker, as a dense fog appeared before them. The seeker boldly charged forward, unafraid of the gloom. As for the two upon its back, the little ward clung tightly to Melissa, burying her face into the small of her back. Melissa, meanwhile, was trying not to look into the mists around them. She had braved these mists before, and it had brought about great personal sorrow to her and to those with whom she was traveling. Defiantly she took one hand off of the reins and reached for her staff, which was secured to the side of the owl-seeker. Holding it aloft, a ball of golden light appeared at the top of the staff, illuminating the air around the seeker.

The tiny Gnome breathed a sigh of relief. But as for Melissa, who had to steer her seeker through the trees, was hard put to it. For out of the mist, strange images swirled and took shape before her eyes. The pale, sunken face of Father Preston, hidden beneath the linen shroud, just moments before a pile of earth had been dumped upon his face, when he was committed to the earth; this now appeared out of the mist, gazing back at her through frozen-shut lids. To her horror, she saw bony hands, long bereft of skin, clawing greedily at the earth, pulling up the sacred bones of good Father Preston.

 _No_ , she told herself, shutting her eyes furiously. _This isn't real._

But was it not? She hadn't visited his grave since she and Tharbin had dug it all those years ago. Perhaps the Forsaken had indeed exhumed his corpse and defiled his old bones? She hadn't visited his grave the last time she was in Hillsbrad for fear of learning that they had, and now...

There was a burst of violet light, a release of arcane power. The tall boughs of Val'sharah's trees became the tall walls of Theramore. But they were not standing proud anymore; instead, they were skeletal ruins, broken and blasted by the fury of an intense mana-bomb. All about the ground she could see the bodies of those who had been slaughtered by the wanton destruction of Garrosh's Horde. To her horror, she saw her beloved Tharbin lying among the ruins of their home, along with Hannah, Talus, and little Maryem; all of them dead. She could hear again the mocking laughter of the Nightmare Lord, which turned into the mocking laughter of Lillian Puck.

 _The Void will consume us all in the end. We will all die..._

"Light, give me strength!" Melissa cried.

The ball of light upon her staff glowed hotter and brighter, dispelling the lying images of the Emerald Nightmare and leaving its tattered remnants to go scurrying away into the mists, howling and writhing in torment over their impotence. For hours more they passed on, with Melissa straining to hold up her staff and ward off the mists with its light. Even though the Nightmare Lord had been vanquished, the remnants of the Emerald Nightmare that clung to the forests of Val'sharah were still quite potent.

After several hours had passed, the mists subsided and they could see the coast and the black fortress of Blackrook Hold upon its islet. From here the seeker turned right, towards the north, and began to fly in lower, towards the coast. There, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the bay, a path wound through the trees deeper into the northern part of the forest. Here there was no dark fog of the Nightmare, but it was not altogether clear among the trees. The seeker came to rest upon the path, landing on its hind legs and rearing its fore-legs upward with a loud and shrill screech. Melissa climbed off and petted the long, owl's neck and led the seeker over to the bole of a nearby tree on the right-hand side of the path. Here she tied the reins of the seeker, who still seemed rather agitated.

"Wait," the wee Gnome squeaked from the seeker's back. "We're walking the rest of the way?"

"Yes," Melissa said. "Something's spooked her, and I wouldn't dare force her to go any further."

"Well, um..." stammered the Gnome. "If we're going to walk, could I at least ride piggy-back with you? I mean, you're rather tall, and I've seen the way you walk. I'd be running just to keep up with you."

Melissa smiled and took a knee; the little Gnome then slid off the seeker's back and climbed onto Melissa's back, wrapping her arms around the taller human's neck. Melissa rose and set off northwestward down the path. The Gnome was not very heavy, and Melissa was smiling all of the way; carrying the little ward on her shoulders reminded her of her children, and how she had carried them on her shoulders when they were little. While they walked, for now under the light of the sun, they talked among themselves.

"What's your name, by the way?" Melissa asked.

"Fizzle Bangratchet," the ward said. "But most people call me Fizzie."

"I've heard that Gnomes get their names early on," Melissa said. "How did you come by yours?"

"I was always hitting things as a baby Gnome," Fizzie replied. "When I was a child, I used to carry off my dad's ratchets and hit things with them. That's how the name caught on. I guess that's one of the reasons I became a warrior; I like hitting things."

Melissa chuckled. "You remind me of my eldest daughter. She's still young, but she's tough. Wants to grow up to be a paladin, a warrior of the Holy Light. I tell her 'Why can't you join the church?'"

"You don't want her to be a paladin?" Fizzie asked.

"If it's what the Light has called her to do, I have no objection," Melissa said. "But I've also spent a lot of time on the front-lines of the Alliance's many expeditions; from one end of Azeroth to the other, and beyond. Paladins are often the first into the worst part of every battle..." She paused for a moment and her smile faded. The memory of the dark day upon the Broken Shore and all the lives lost came back to mind. As she recalled, the Argent Crusade, whose numbers were filled with paladins, had suffered the most losses of them all.

"What's wrong?" squeaked Fizzie.

"It's nothing," Melissa said, shaking her head. "Must be something in my eye..."

Even as she reached up to rub her eyes, a yawn escaped her lips. The sun was still middling in the sky, but the mist about them had a warm, golden shimmer to it. Looking about, they saw that the path was leading deep into the forest. The mist here was not dark and gloomy, as in the other parts of the forest, but that did not make them any more secure. Here it was warm, almost stifling, and immediately they realized that their eyes became heavy. A tiny yawn came from the mouth of Fizzie, who buried her mouth into her own shoulder.

"Are we there yet?" Fizzie asked. "I'm starting to wonder if that druid's magic did anything."

Melissa did not answer, for she was looking about the boles of the trees about them. Perhaps sleep was indeed getting to her, for she thought she saw small points of light shimmering within the trees. She shook her head and sighed, remembering that she had seen similar lights in the trees in Ashenvale. As she looked at one tree, she thought she saw a pair of eyes blink open upon the tree bark. But it was not the deep-set, wizened eyes of the Ancients, the living trees that could be found deep within the Night Elven forests; those she had seen before and had been amazed by them. This thing, however, filled her with a strange kind of fear; a base, primal fear, one that came from a place beyond her memory and thought. A fear born of instinct from centuries of being hunted by creatures of this kind.

"Who are you?" she said, turning towards the tree. "What do you want?"

The eyes blinked again, observing the strangers carefully. Suddenly a voice spoke, echoing throughout the woods, as if it came from nowhere. The voice spoke in broken Common, but it was deep and almost hypnotic, increasing the feeling of weariness among the two travelers.

"Ya be no druids," said the voice. "Ya have no business in deez woods."

"We're here with the protection of Malfurion Stormrage, the Archdruid of Moonglade," Melissa spoke.

To the surprise and slight disgust of the two, a thing clad in tree-bark separated itself from the bole of the tree where the eyes had been. Though the thing hunched and its legs were bent, it was taller than both of them. From its gait and the moss-covered tusks protruding from its mouth, they concluded that this thing was a Troll.

"I be sensin' da Great Druid's mark upon ye," the Troll said. "Deez forests be dangerous for dose dat be not druids. What be your business?"

"We need a druid to accompany us to Felwood in Kalimdor," Melissa said, eager to conclude her business here and be out of the woods; or at least away from the Troll. "Do you know of any one who could be spared?"

The Troll said nothing, but turned about and walked into the trees. At first they thought that he had ignored them and assayed to go or at least call out after him. But as they walked forward into the woods, they found themselves growing even sleepier. They called out for the Troll, but their voices were lifeless in the still, warm air. It seemed, then, that their search had been in vain. They were about to turn about and leave, when they heard the voice again, echoing through the trees around them.

"Be not too hasty to leave," the voice said. "Ya answah be comin' soon."

The two stayed on the edge of the forest, as far as they could go before the feeling of drowsiness overwhelmed them. A gentle breeze blew the branches of the trees back and forth, but there was no other sound upon the wind. The minutes ticked down, the sun made its slow path across the sky, and it seemed that they had been quite forgotten. Finally they heard the sound of shoes walking on the leaf-laden forest floor. They rose up to see the newcomer and were surprised to see that it was not a Troll at all, but a figure of human-size. It seemed to be close to Melissa's height, but a little bit shorter, though of similar slender shape. As the figure approached them, they saw that it was clad in a cloak of brown and green, that seemed to be made of living leaves. As soon as the figure left the trees, it removed the hood that shrouded its face and they saw that it was a woman with fair skin and raven black hair.

"My name is Lucilla Trenchmire," she greeted; her voice was accented with the Gilnean drawl. "The Archdruid of the Dreamgrove said that you wished me to accompany you to Felwood?"

"Hello, Lady Trenchmire," Melissa returned. "Thank you for agreeing to come with us. If you would consent to accompany us, we are going to Felwood to speak with the spirits of the departed Night Elves that inhabit that wood. You can communicate with them, can you not?"

"It would not be difficult," Trenchmire replied. "But it's many miles from here to Felwood. I assume you've taken this into consideration?"

"Well, yes," Melissa replied. "We can fly back to Dalaran and take the portal there to Kalimdor, and then fly from Darnassus to Felwood. That journey would be the longest, though, and not the safest route."

"I do not fear danger," Trenchmire said. "Nor am I daunted by the distance. I have learned much from the Night Elven druids, and can assume the form of the storm crow. What do you think to find in Felwood?"

But even as Melissa began to explain, Lucilla Trenchmire held up one hand to silence her and began to look about the trees around them, sniffing the air. Suddenly, to their surprise, she knelt down to the ground and removed her cloak; when it was removed, they saw that she had become a large black wolf.

"She's a Worgen!" whispered Fizzie.

"What is it?" Melissa asked, worried about Lady Trenchmire's transformation.

"Something's near," the wolf that had been Trenchmire growled. "We're being followed."

* * *

 **(AN: When I was writing this chapter, I sought out as much lore as I could about Val'sharah, as I do whenever I write something [and even now I can hear the angry screeches of _Elder Scrolls_ fans in the distance]. From what I read, they had retconned Shaladrassil as the "original" World Tree, which is ridiculous because Nordrassil was the first one, "the original, you might say." Then as I dug deeper, all of the new _Legion_ lore just fell through, which I will save more about for the next chapter.)**


	5. Answers

**(AN: One of the biggest lore retcons that bothered me was Suramar. Aside from making arcane magic "neutral", and having us enable these mana junkies [being a big _Warcraft III_ fan, you'll see why that didn't sit well with me] they removed Maiev's one sole redeeming moment from _The Frozen Throne_. I was touched by her sadness when she saw the ruins of Suramar in the Night Elf quest in _TFT_ , since it was the only part of her character that wasn't tainted by Illidan. But with _Legion_ , that got written off.)**

 **(Thankfully, I remember that, and I also remember who Illidan was serving in _TFT_ , which paints his actions in an even worse light when one brings into mind the revelation of _Wrath of the Lich King_ [which we'll discuss in the coming chapters].)**

* * *

 **Answers**

The skies above the Tomb of Sargeras were heavy with the ashen scent of fel-fire. Though the assault upon the tomb had been several months ago, the scars of the Legion's burning crusade still clung to this place. Leshara and Bart had to keep their eyes open, for in the holes and caverns about the Tomb, many a demon still lurked. Without warning, they might burst from their hiding places and attack them; especially with all of the noise made by the flying machine's engine.

Bart brought his flying machine around in front of Leshara's proto-drake and waved her down. With one hand, he gestured towards an angular shelf of rock several hundred feet below them on the south-eastern side of the Tomb. He waited until the Draenei directed her drake downward before leading himself down thither. Rather than shutting off the engine, he bounded out of the cockpit and walked over to where the drake sat, with winged folded inward.

"We've circled that blasted Tomb five times already," he said at the top of his voice. "But haven't found our elusive Warden! Maybe she's already left?"

"Getting tired already?" Leshara asked. "Give it one more lap, and if we don't see anything, then we'll meet back at Deliverance Point."

"I surely hope that Fizzie and Redmane have had better luck than we have," bemoaned Bart.

He climbed back into his flying machine and took off into the air after Leshara. Below him the world seemed so small; even the old Night Elven Temple of Elune, that had become the Tomb of Sargeras when the Guardian Aegwynn banished the avatar of the Dark Titan thither, seemed so much smaller from the air. Even the spots of fel-fire, glowing upon the ancient marble masonry, glistened with a charming kind of emerald light. Had he not know what they were, it would have been beautiful.

Suddenly he had to pull the throttle back, as he saw Leshara's drake cut in front of him. The Draenei was gesturing for them to land. He gave her a big thumbs up, then began to maneuver his flying machine down into a large, blackened canyon. Beside him landed the drake, and Leshara climbed off quickly and told Bart to shut off his engine. He did so, then climbed out of his machine.

"What is it now?" he asked. "Finally giving up?"

"Definitely not," Leshara replied. "I saw something from the air, and so landed us down here away from it, so as to not scare it away."

"What was it?" Bart asked.

"A hippogryph," Leshara answered. "Like the ones used by the Wardens. I think we may have found her."

Leshara led the way down the canyon, going southwestward. They had landed some ways southeast away from the entrance of the Tomb, far away from Lion's Rest, the place where Varian Wrynn fell in battle with the Burning Legion. This was still upon the plateau on which the Tomb was built, and so close enough to warrant caution for fear of the many hidden demons. Leshara bowed her head low, and blinked back tears from her light-blue eyes; the memories of that fateful day on the Broken Shore still clung to the dark corners of her mind. Meanwhile Bart, bringing up the rear, was looking this way and that, ready to send a barrage of arcane missiles at the nearest demon he saw.

The canyon began to slope downward, and terminated in a small basin of water, then crawled back up onto land and bent westward. Before the water, which was still a few yards away, they saw an emerald-feathered hippogryph sitting upon the ground. Here they looked about this way and that, hoping to see some glimpse of their quarry. To the right the cliff on that side of the canyon was tall and black, scored with many pits and cracks. The largest of them was a little way off, but it was not very deep; a cave-in had sealed up the tunnel at less than a hundred feet inward.

Within the mouth of the cave, a lone figure knelt before the rocks that blocked off the collapsed tunnel. The figure was clad in the garb of the Wardens, and her masked helmet lay at her side, revealing long, silvery white hair flowing down her back and onto her shoulders. Bart swallowed loudly, and Leshara's hands clenched nervously; she knew of a certainty that they had found her. Slowly they approached the kneeling figure, moving quietly. It was in vain, as Leshara knew; years of hunting had given the Night Elves the keenest hearing of all the peoples of Azeroth. No sooner had they passed under the shadow of the cavern but the silver head turned to look over her shoulder.

"Leave me be," Maiev said to them; her voice was unmistakable.

"Maiev Shadowsong," Leshara greeted. "I was among those who fought with you in Karabor, when we defeated Illidan Stormrage."

"I remember you," Maiev responded. "Why do you disturb me here?"

"What is this place?" Leshara asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Maiev turned her head back around, away from her guests.

"This tunnel," she began. "Once led into the lower levels of the Tomb of Sargreas. Through this way I alone escaped as Illidan brought the lower chambers down upon my Watchers, murdering them." She paused, looking at the stones with her silvery eyes. "I come here to seek solitude, to remind myself of why I still hunt the Betrayer. On days of quiet, like this, I can almost hear their voices...Naisha..."

Her voice was softened, if it was possible for her steel-voice to be softened. A hint of sadness, of regret, was also to be heard as she spoke the name of one of her Watchers. Though they knew not to whom that name belonged.

"I know why you're here," Maiev said at last. "You are with the Kirin Tor, the ones who foolishly allied with the Betrayer. Has he proven to be the asset Khadgar so greatly declared him to be? Or has he not betrayed you as well?"

"He..." Leshara sighed; there was no use mincing words. "He has betrayed us."

"As I cautioned he would," Maiev replied. "But the Kirin Tor are no better than the Highbourne of old. Their arrogance proved to be their downfall as well, but unlike our people, you mortals refused to learn from our folly."

"What do you mean, lady?" Bart asked.

"The Night Elven race was broken during the Sundering," Maiev began. "Our folly in delving into the magic that brought the Burning Legion to Azeroth broke our world. It was that magic that Illidan desired; to keep it for himself, he betrayed our entire people and endangered the world. Yet despite this, your Kirin Tor walks in the path of the Highbourne. You meddle with powers beyond your comprehension, thinking that you have more foresight and wisdom than the Kal'dorei. You ally with a foolhardy betrayer, whose blindness extends beyond merely his eyes."

"What do you mean?" Leshara asked.

"I was his jailer," Maiev continued. "For ten thousand years, I heard his foul tongue as he spewed all manner of blasphemies; against me, against his brother Shan'do Stormrage, against our people, against the goddess Elune. In the darkness of the Barrow Dens, he convinced himself of the rightness of his own folly, as many other madmen have done in their time. As he would have it, he alone of all our people knew how to properly destroy the Burning Legion. Cenarius was a coward and his brother a charlatan who had deceived our people into surrendering our birthright, and therefore placing us at the mercy of the Legion. He thought that he deserved the hand of Tyrande, merely because he wanted her!" She scoffed. "Such arrogance was the way of the Highbourne."

"Indeed?" Leshara asked.

Maiev scoffed. "Illidan has done quite enough of his own accord to warrant death a thousand times over. I have no need to embellish his deeds."

"What about his methods, though?" Bart asked. "Fighting the Burning Legion with their own power. You have to admit, it's clever."

"Clever?" Maiev asked. "Perhaps, but short-sighted, as all of Illidan's deeds have been. When he lost his eyes, he became the vessel of the Dark Titan Sargeras. He now sees all that Illidan sees and learns of the plans of your Kirin Tor from among its heart, where you think you are safest."

Leshara nodded. It made sense now why Illidan would go so far as to destroy Xe'ra. The Light was the most powerful foe of the Burning Legion, and if Xe'ra was indeed the Prime Naaru, it would service the Legion well to destroy it.

"As for his methods," Maiev continued. "He cares nothing for the destruction of the Burning Legion, only for the furthering of his own power. He boasted of it himself during his captivity; that he alone of all the mortal races had deceived Sargeras and would use his power, accepted under the pretext of serving the Legion, to service himself. It was for his own power that he absorbed the Skull of Gul'dan, and he would have done likewise with the Eye of Sargeras, had he been allowed to complete his task."

"Wait, the Eye of Sargeras?" Leshara asked. "What was that?"

"A powerful demonic artifact," Maiev said. "Learned no doubt from the memories of Gul'dan which he absorbed through the skull. I pursued him with my Watchers from Kalimdor to this island, where he and his Naga allies came in search for the Eye. When Shan'do came with reinforcements, we pursued him to the shores of Lordaeron, and finally cornered him in the ruins of Dalaran. Again he lied about how he had planned to use the Eye to save us, though his spell was tearing apart the very Roof of the World! A short-sighted fool, as always! Were it not for the intervention of the Sin'dorei, I would have caught him then and there."

"The Blood Elves," Leshara mused.

"The same," Maiev continued. "Like the Highbourne of old, the Nightbourne of Suramar, and Illidan himself, they are addicted to the very magic that sundered our world. And in their folly, they too have sold themselves wholly to the Legion." She sighed. "I have answered enough of your questions, now. Begone!"

Bart turned to Leshara, who nodded and turned around to leave the cavern. The little Gnome followed after her; unlike his non-magical ward, Bartholomax Manafizzle could always cast a small teleportation spell to keep up with taller folk in the blink of an eye. In this manner, they made their way back to their mounts, but Leshara did not immediately mount up.

"Where to next?" Bart asked.

"Let us go to Ratchet," Leshara said. "We're too close to Dalaran here for my liking. Can you get us there?"

"Absolutely," Bart affirmed, then began to waddle about their landing site, drawing runes with his finger in the blackened dirt that began to glow blue. "I certainly hope our friends in the Dreamgrove have had better luck than we have."

* * *

No sooner had the words issued from Trenchmire's lips but a dark figure leaped out of the trees. Before any of them could react, it leaped onto the Worgen's back, pushing off against it and soaring again through the air to land on the ground behind Melissa. Cold, rough hands seized the back of her red hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck, as a slender knife was pressed against the exposed flesh.

Had Melissa been alone, this might have ended in her death. But she was not alone, and her companions had not been idle. As was the custom with Gnomes, Fizzie had been quite ignored by the newcomer: but it proved to be her detriment. The little Gnome delivered a swift kick to the attacker's leg, throwing it off balance. Trenchmire, meanwhile, held out two clawed fore-paws, and the soil beneath the attacker burst with writhing roots suddenly grown up from the ground. Strong, implacable roots entangled about the attacker's ankles and wrists, keeping it pinned down and pulling the blade-holding hand away from Melissa's throat, allowing her to step back and look upon her attacker.

"Horde scum!" growled Trenchmire.

"Let me go!" the attacker demanded. The voice was rough and haggard, but it was the voice of a woman. Melissa, however, approached the attacker. There was something familiar about the voice, something she had to learn for herself. With one hand she removed the hood from off her attacker, exposing the pale, gaunt face drenched in lank, dark hair.

"I knew I smelled the stench of death," Trenchmire snarled. "Your kind can be smelled out from a mile away."

"No mean feat for a dog," the undead assassin retorted. "A b*tch of the Gilnean brood."

"Hannah?" Melissa asked.

"You know this creep?" Fizzie queried.

"Once," Melissa answered. "A long time ago. Now, then, tell us what you're doing here. Why did you attack me?"

"I didn't attack you," Hannah replied. "I was trying to kill you."

"Need we wonder," Trenchmire asked. "Why a filthy Forsaken corpse would want to kill one of us?"

"Who sent you?" Melissa asked.

"The Desolate Council," Hannah replied.

"Never heard of it," Melissa returned.

"That's just as well," Hannah said. "Now let me go or kill me!"

"You know I won't kill you," Melissa said.

"What?" Trenchmire returned. "But she's a filthy undead, no better than the Scourge!" Hannah hissed at the Worgen, who turned back and snarled at her. "It's around your neck these roots should go."

"We won't kill you," Melissa said. "But you have to leave us now. Leave us and do not follow or try to attack us again. If you do, I cannot protect you from them again. Is that understood?"

"Yeah?" Hannah retorted. "Well, understand this; the Desolate Council knows that you've been prying into our affairs. Or did you not think your little inquisition of Forsaken priests of the Cult of Forgotten Shadows wouldn't go unnoticed?"

"So what do they want with me?" Melissa asked.

"Leave our people alone," Hannah stated firmly. "Stay out of our business."

"Or what?" Trenchmire asked.

"Or..." Hannah said, turning to Melissa with a cruel smile upon her black lips. "...or I'll pay your family a visit one night. How would you like that, huh? Children are so delicious; so soft, so tender..."

Her words were cut off into a loud, piercing scream. Melissa had seized the wrist that held the knife, and a bright white light blazed around the place where her hand touched the rotting skin. The High Priest's eyes blazed with Holy fire.

"If you ever threaten my children again," Melissa retorted. "I'll forget that we were once friends. And no lords of the Void will save you from my wrath on that day, is that clear?" Hannah nodded furiously, then the hand dropped the knife to the ground. Melissa discarded the arm with disgust; the cold, rotten flesh gave her chills down her spine.

"Now be on your way!" Melissa ordered. Trenchmire's paws relaxed and the roots returned once again into the ground. Perhaps the revelation of Melissa's wrath had put some fear into the Forsaken assassin that none had ever seen, but they had no need to threaten her anymore. As soon as she was released, she bolted into the woods and was not seen again by their group.

"Ugh!" Fizzie exclaimed. "Those undead give me the shivers!"

"You said you were once friends with that thing," Trenchmire said, now once again a raven-haired woman a little shorter than the High Priest. "Would you care to explain how a priest of the Church of the Light could be compatriots with that shadowspawn scum?"

"She was not always like that," Melissa sighed, looking down contemptuously at the hand that had held Hannah's wrist. "In life, she was a human, no older than me."

"What happened to her?" Trenchmire asked.

"The Scourge," Melissa sighed. "She fell to the plague of undeath that the Scourge brought upon Lordaeron. That's all I know." She knelt down and rubbed her hands in the dirt. It stung her, that she had so lashed out against one whom she had called her friend; in her heart it felt as a betrayal. Therefore she cleaned her hands the best way she knew how with no water at immediate reach.

"You needn't feel ashamed of what you did," Trenchmire said. "The undead are an abomination to all that is good in this world. They may claim to not be part of the Scourge, but they would corrupt and despoil this world just the same. They find no pleasure in what is good and wholesome, only in what is foul and broken, just like them: that is the difference between we who bear our curse and these monsters. Worgen are a thing of this earth, while the undead are a blight upon the world."

"I know," Melissa nodded. She dared not voice her agreement, though she did agree in theory with what Lucilla had said. But to say so outwardly again felt as a betrayal of her old friend.

"Let's take this knife with us," Fizzie said, picking up the knife out of the dirt. "We might be able to find out where it came from, and so learn more about this Desolate Council."

"If you wish," Trenchmire said. "But keep it far from me. It still reeks of death."

They were all tired from the attack, but Trenchmire was the least weary. For her, the drowsiness did not come upon her and she was wide awake as could be. Yea, the attack had made her even more alert and aware of their surroundings. As such, she gestured that the other women come closer to her. Once they were huddled together, she spoke to them in a hushed voice.

"I wouldn't put it past that blackguard not to try something while we're making our way from this place," she said. "Therefore, if you will be ruled by me, we should go deeper into the forest, into the very Dreamgrove itself."

"Is that not dangerous?" Fizzie exclaimed.

"Dangerous, yes, but I will be with you," Trenchmire continued. "I am known among the druids here, and they will not harm you as long as you are in my care. Once we have passed through the Dreamgrove, there are paths that can be taken; paths that lead through the Emerald Dream faster than any ship, flight, or mage's portal. We could be in Felwood by nightfall, when it would usually take days to go there otherwise."

"If you think she'll follow us," Fizzie asked. "What about these paths? Won't she follow us through them too?"

"Only a druid knows the way," Trenchmire said. "And I will be leading you. As for that filthy undead, she would not be permitted to pass beneath the boughs of the Dreamgrove. Even were she in the company of a druid of the Horde - if either Troll or Tauren could stand her presence - she would be met with distrust by the druids here. Not for naught are we the guardians of nature."

"Sounds good, what do you think, Mels?" Fizzie asked. Melissa did not immediately answer.

"Are you with us?" Trenchmire asked.

"Hmm?" Melissa stammered. "Oh, yes. Of course. You're right, of course, Lucilla. If she was following us, we'd be gone by the time she finally reached Felwood, going the long way."

"Precisely," Trenchmire replied. "Now, then, if we're all settled, come with me."

Trenchmire led them over to the trunk of a large tree and told them to sit down against it. Even as they did, they became distinctly aware of the thick, hot air and the heaviness of their eyes. The last thing that filled their eyes were Lucilla's pale face and her blue-gray eyes before at last weariness conquered them and they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Melissa was the first one to awaken, her eyes slowly blinking open. The first thing she saw were the deep green boughs of Ashenvale overhead. She half-dreamed that she was back in the Alliance Expedition so many years ago. _No_ , she told herself. _That is silly._ A quick look down her body proved that that was not the case. Still, she was back in the familiar forest. At first she was worried, but then noticed that Lucilla was standing over them, with her hood thrown back and her dark hair tied behind her head in a loose bun.

"Good, you're awake," she said. "We've arrived in Ashenvale Forest, but there are still some miles to travel. We should be on our way, now; it is not good to be in Felwood at night, and we're already going to be spending a great deal of time there."

Fizzie was still asleep, but Melissa did not rouse her. Instead, she tied her upon her back, as she had carried her daughter Hannah when she was a baby; the little Gnome ward snoozed soundly on the taller human's back. Meanwhile, Melissa noticed that her owl-seeker had been brought with her and was waiting patiently for her to mount up. At her side was Lucilla, now transformed into a dark raven. Melissa wasted no time in climbing atop her owl-seeker and taking off on the last leg of their journey.

They flew west at first, just beneath the boughs of the trees, for several miles; always they followed the shimmering shape of the westering sun that could be seen through the branches. They kept to this course until the northward road, that led up the slopes of Mount Hyjal to its summit, appeared before them. They took to the road, following it northward from above, deeper into the darkening woods.

During her time with the Alliance Expedition, Melissa Redmane had heard rumors whispered among the camps while she was in Ashenvale. They spoke of the Felwood, a dark glade along the western flanks of Hyjal; here the demons were in force, carrying out their master's commands to corrupt the forest. Thank the Light, she had never had the misfortune of venturing into Felwood. Now, however, everything was changing: now she would be going into that dark forest.

The trees before them changed from dark green to almost black green. The cool, twilit blue shade beneath the trees of Ashenvale gave way to an inky black gloom even darker than Val'sharah; there the darkness was was only a shadow of night terrors, easily dispersed by the light of truth, while here the nightmares were the waking world. Here day and night were nigh indistinguishable one from the other; here any source of light came from poisonous pustules upon the barks of trees and fetid pools of fel corruption. Doleful howls of diseased creatures echoed in the dark hollows; here the light of the sun came not.

No sooner had they passed under the darkness but the raven came to rest on the ground, and the owl-seeker followed on behind her. Melissa dismounted with Fizzie in tow on her back, and Lucilla transformed back into human form.

"Are we where I think we are?" Melissa asked, warily eying the dark, finger-like branches overhead.

"Yes," Lucilla answered. "This is Felwood."

Melissa examined the trees; shadows lurked between their trunks, but no movement could be seen. The air was thick with the stench of decay and howled with distant cries. Yet there was nothing visible as of yet. It was too quiet.

"Now that we're here, then," Lucilla spoke up, her voice a harsh whisper in the death-like silence. "Let's set up camp. It will be dark soon and you'll be wanting me to talk to your spirits in short order."

"Do you know where to find them?" Melissa asked. "And why do we need to camp here?"

"I will be going to sleep, after all," Lucilla commented. "I must sleep in order to enter the Emerald Dream in order to find your spirits. For this cause we must make camp; someplace safe, or relatively so, considering this forest."

They left the main road, going a little eastward. The land steadily sloped upward, becoming rockier and harder the farther towards the flanks of Hyjal they went. But here, within the glade, it was soggy and sickening. The fel pools had seeped corruption into every blade of grass and every inch of earth, turning the grass brown and coarse and the ground damp and muddy. No better place for a camp-site found they but a bare patch of relatively dry earth. It was out in the open, but none of them dared sleep near the trees.

Here they came to rest. Melissa set Fizzie down carefully upon the ground; she was still slumbering soundly. The human removed her cloak and wrapped the little Gnome in it. Then she began to examine what provisions she had brought with her for the journey while there was yet such light as there was in Felwood. She had only a few spices, dried jerky, a few ink-bottles, quill, and parchment with her. She made a mental note that, once they had finished their business here, they would purchase some food once they met up with the others at Ratchet. Lucilla, noticing Melissa's shortage, shifted into a raven and with the promise to return, vanished into the darkness. She returned minutes later with an egg in her talons before transforming back into her natural form.

"Where did you get this?" Melissa asked.

"I didn't lay it, if that's what you're asking," Lucilla replied with a gentle smile. "And you needn't worry; I found it in Ashenvale. It's not safe to eat of anything, meat, fish, or plant, that lives or grows in Felwood."

"Isn't there something in your druidic oaths about protecting nature?" Melissa asked. "How is this not a betrayal?"

Lucilla sighed. "It is a betrayal, actually. But, for our purposes, I suppose it won't matter greatly. I'm sure I've slaughtered a deer or two in my time once the curse took hold of me."

"Can we light a fire?" Melissa asked.

"I wouldn't advise it," Lucilla returned. "These forests are dangerous enough during the day, and I will be facing more than enough unseen dangers on my own within the Dream. No need to invite other dangers."

"What unseen dangers are there?" Melissa inquired.

"Remnants of the Nightmare Lord's corruption," quoth Lucilla. "But that may be found in other places, and strongest in Val'sharah. Here in Felwood, the corruption of the Burning Legion has twisted and tormented not only the ground and all that grows and lives here, but also the spirits of the forest. Most of them speak only madness, but some are quite dangerous. Not for naught is this place called Felwood."

"I see," Melissa nodded.

Lucilla removed from her belt a small leather water-skin, from which she drank before stopping it up and returning it to her belt.

"A cordial designed to induce sleep," Lucilla explained. "The faster I sleep, the sooner I find your spirits. As for you, I ask that you do your best to keep us safe, though you are a priest. If it comes to a choice between fire and death, you have my permission to light such fire as you can."

"Understood," Melissa answered.

"Oh, that reminds me," Lucilla added. "When I find the spirits, what should I ask them?"

"There was a battle between the Night Elves and the Legion fought in this forest at the end of the Third War," Melissa said. "One in which Illidan Stormrage took part. We wish to know what happened then."

"That will do," Lucilla said. "You'll see me when I wake up again."

Lucilla stretched herself out upon the ground, then wrapped herself in her cloak, folding up her hood as a pillow. In a few moments, her blue-gray eyes slowly slid shut and she fell fast asleep. Melissa, meanwhile, kept watch on their little camp-site. Periodically there would appear flashes of light far off in the forest, but little to no noise. She looked back at the sleeping forms. She hoped that the Gnome was sleeping peacefully, and that she had happy dreams. As for Lucilla, she knew not what dangers truly awaited those who walked the Emerald Dream; she prayed to the Light for her protection.

* * *

Within the Dream world, a large black wolf arose from the place where Lucilla Trenchmire's physical body lay sleeping. All around her danced within the shining verdant world the forms and shapes of the spirits of the forest. In the waking world, they were but lights in the trees, the will-o-the-wisps. Here they took on substance. Kal'dorei druids, their beards long and full of leaves, walked with sullen expressions upon their faces. Others twitched and writhed, their forms fading and flickering as they fell into darkness.

"Spirits of the forest," she spoke. "Hear my call. Show me those who fell in this place during the Third War. I seek their knowledge and their wisdom."

Some of the shapes looked up from their gloom, but said nothing and hung their heads again. Others mocked her, speaking again her words in her own voice like a hideous echo, that trailed off endlessly and frantically, culminating in peels of laughter. Beyond this, she could see with her eyes, within the Dream-world, the land as it might have been, but only in glimpses. Within her came a desire to explore those glades and see Felwood as it was before the fel corrupted this land.

 _No_ , she reminded herself. _Must not...lose myself. I have a task to fulfill._

A large figure, what had appeared to be a Night Elf, approached where she sat. The spirit regarded her carefully before finally speaking.

"You are strange to my eyes, young Worgen," the spirit said. "But I see the blessing of the Lord of the Forest upon you. What wisdom do you seek?"

"Tell me..." Lucilla said. "Or...or rather, show me what happened in this forest at the end of the Third War. When Illidan Stormrage fought the demons."

"What is there to tell?" the spirit grimly asked. "The forest was poisoned. Now there is no hope for it ever to be cleansed. The Betrayer was deceived."

"Show me this deception," Lucilla begged.

The shape of the spirit seemed to shudder and distort momentarily. It stepped backward, as if taking its place upon a theatrical stage whose green curtain was now being rolled back within the Emerald Dream.

"We followed him," the spirit said. "But only thus far. Our purpose was to fight the demons, as we had in ages past. We came to halt the corruption, but found that we served only to feed his power. Our sacrifices...were in vain."

Behind the spirit, there appeared before Lucilla's eyes another ghastly, half-visible image of a Night Elven male. But whereas the others were grizzled with their long, moss-like beards full of leaves, this one was clean-shaven and his hair was black as night. Upon his body were demonic brands, burned into his body with fel-fire, and his eyes were covered with a blind-fold. In his hands were two war-glaives; not the triple-bladed weapons of Night Elven Sentinels, but the demonic blades of Azzinoth.

He seemed to be speaking to himself.

"I am free after ten thousand years," Illidan said. "Yet still, my own brother thinks I am a villain." He scoffed. "I'll show him my true power. I'll show him the demons have no control over me."

Another shape appeared; a thing of darkness. The earth froze and died beneath its feet, yet its face was remarkably human.

"Are you certain of that, demon hunter?" the human asked. "Are you certain your will is your own?"

Illidan turned towards the human and sniffed the air. "You reek of death, human. You'll regret approaching me."

"Come, then," taunted the human. "You'll find that we're evenly matched."

The two flashed before Lucilla's eyes; the demon hunter and the death knight, blades of fel fire and the rune-sword of ice, Azzinoth's blades and Frostmourne. For surely this was the Lich King. Though Lucilla had spent most of her adult life behind the Greymane Wall, rumors of the fall of Lordaeron at the hands of Arthas and his destruction at the hands of the Argent Crusade mere months before the Cataclysm eventually made their way to her ears.

The demon hunter had speed and agility on his side, but the raw strength of the death knight was more than a match. The fire that burned from the elf's tattoos could not harm the human, for the flames froze as they came near to his blade. They paused for a brief moment.

"We could go on fighting like this forever," Illidan said. "What is it you truly want?"

"The dreadlord that commands this undead army is called Tichondrius," Arthas explained. "He controls a powerful warlock artifact called the Skull of Gul'dan. It is responsible for corrupting these forests."

"And you wish for me to steal it," Illidan concluded. "Why?"

"Let's just say," the human returned. "That I have no love for Tichondrius, and the lord that I serve would...benefit from the Legion's downfall."

And so enemies were brought to a common purpose. Lucilla always loathed that the so-called Knights of the Ebon Blade, the death knights who were formerly in the Lich King's service, were allowed back into the Alliance - and the Horde - so easily. Even now, these blackguards were being summoned by the Kirin Tor to fight the Legion once again.

But then she saw that the spirits spoke again. Words that Feronas Sindweller had conveniently chosen to leave out of his version of these events which he told to those who met him, to cast his master in a sympathetic light and give excuse for his damnable actions.

"Why should I believe anything you say, little human?" Illidan asked, disdain and condescension dripping from every word.

"My master sees all, demon hunter," quoth Arthas. "He knows that you've sought power your whole life; now it lies within your grasp. Seize it and your enemies will be undone!"

With that, the death knight walked away and vanished from sight. The vision faded and the old Night Elven druid's spirit was all that remained.

"The Betrayer," he muttered. "He sent us to our deaths to hold back the Legion while he sought the Skull of Gul'dan. And when he returned, he was utterly changed. And the lies of the Lich King were proven true; though Illidan destroyed the Skull and absorbed its powers for himself, the forests were not corrupted. The poisoning of the fel has scarred this glade permanently."

"But what about the dreadlord?" Lucilla asked. "Did Illidan slay him?"

"Yes," the spirit replied. "But what did it truly mean? See now what has been hidden from the eyes of many for so many years. Only we who haunt these forests have seen this, and now we reveal to you the deeds of the Betrayer yet again in the latter days of the Third War."

The shade seemed to vanish, and once again Lucilla saw herself among the forests. For a moment, she deemed that she had risen from sleep again. As she looked about, she saw a large demon approaching her. Already as a wolf, she raised her claws to defend herself. As the shape approached, she saw that it was the form of Illidan Stormrage; yet he was marred. Horns grew from his head, his feet had transformed into hooves, and great wings sprouted from his back. He looked more demon than Night Elf.

"Again, it is not enough," he muttered to himself. "I destroyed the Skull and slew the dreadlord, yet they are afraid of my power? They think I have become a demon now? Even Tyrande! The horror in her voice: she was terrified of me! Still..." He held out one clawed hand. A grin split his face.

"Yes," he said. "I have become stronger than any Night Elf has ever dreamed of. Soon I will have all the power I could ever wish for. Then I'll make my brother bow to me and beg me for forgiveness..." He grinned. "...and I will deny him. He'll know what it's like to be imprisoned for eternity! Then Tyrande will see me and my power, and she will beg me to make her mine..."

At that moment, there was a bright flash of fel-fire. A giant crimson-skinned Eredar appeared before Illidan. No sooner had the demon appeared but he knelt down and pressed his horned head to the ground.

"Lord Kil'jaeden!" he said in awe.

"Illidan," quoth the demon-lord. "In the past, you have been both friend and foe to the Burning Legion. But by consuming the Skull of Gul'dan, you sealed our defeat in this world. I come to offer you a second chance to serve us."

"What would you have me do, great one?" Illidan asked without hesitation.

"My creation, the Lich King, has betrayed me," said Kil'jaeden. "He dared to break the pact that binds him to my will. But his spirit still lies trapped inside the Frozen Throne of Icecrown. Destroy it for me, and I will grant you your heart's desire."

Even as the demon-lord's booming voice echoed in Lucilla's ears, other voices rose to meet his. Lights appeared in the trees, distorting the vision. Spirits of the forest appeared, but these were not friendly ones. Ancients that had been corrupted by the fel, cruel satyrs, and twisted Night Elven wisps, now glided menacingly to meet the Worgen.

* * *

 **(AN: Now we see the truth: Illidan has always sought power for himself, not for any noble reasons. The plot will thicken come the next chapter, where things get even more interesting.)**

 **(When I heard the announcement that there was this so-called "Desolate Council" being formed in Undercity, I knew that Blizzard was going to pull a Battle for Undercity [AGAIN!] by creating another scapegoat organization to do all the morally reprehensible actions they don't want to put on Sylvanas' shoulders, such as the burning of Teldrassil. But, in my version, they do not truly have any power beyond the administration of Undercity; Sylvanas is still the power in Undercity, and her agents [Hannah Mardenholde, among others] are** **doing her business in secret.)**

 **(Let's talk for a moment about the Kirin Tor: in my lore, they're not just the mage rulers of Dalaran, but they have their own "subculture." For me, it is the only way to explain how they dismiss the evils of certain individuals [warlocks and death knights, for instance, but also Illidan]. In _Warcraft III_ , they were a lot less open-minded than the void-worshipers of _Legion._ )**


	6. Secrets

**(AN: So this chapter ended up being longer than I thought it was, and contains a LOT. Mostly some stuff about the Kirin Tor and other things. Another thing that comes up in this chapter is a criticism of one of the things that Garrosh and his fanboys love to use as a defense for his indefensible actions. They criticize Thrall for not killing Gallywix and leaving him in charge of the goblins, and yet Garrosh never does this. Garrosh himself whines in his death during _Warlords of Draenor_ how he had to "pick up the pieces of your mess", which I don't see. What mess did Thrall leave to Garrosh? Before Garrosh, the Horde was strong [despite Sylvanas in the dog house for causing the Wrathgate], Cairne Bloodhoof was alive, the Barrens were safely under the Horde's control, and there was relative peace. Then Garrosh becomes Warchief and breaks the Horde up by throwing all the non-Orcs out of Orgrimmar, treating Vol'jin like crap, killing Cairne, letting the Alliance destroy Camp Taurahe, and starting all-out war. Literally, he took what Thrall made, broke it, blamed Thrall for it, and all of his fanboys - like Bellular, Nobbel, Taliesin, and all of you - are just kissing up to him as if he were the devil herself.)  
**

 **(Also in regard to what happens in this chapter, I wonder if I should increase the rating.)**

* * *

 **Secrets**

The Gnome and Draenei arrived shortly in Ratchet, the little goblin-owned and run town on the eastern shores of Kalimdor. Once the town materialized around them, they made their way to the stable-master. They placed Leshara's drake and Bart's flying machine in the care of this little goblin, whom Bart had to swat away from inspecting his vessel. Before they left, Bart double-checked his machine and locked the engine and the fuel tank before hiding the keys in a magically-enlarged pocket of his.

"You can't trust these goblins for anything," he whispered to Leshara as they left the stable-master.

They made their way to the inn in Ratchet, where they paid for rooms for four (almost double the prices that such a room would cost in Stormwind), and then got for themselves food and drink. It was indeed a comical sight: the tall, slender Draenei warrior sitting at a small table drinking ale while a little Gnome sat upon the table, playfully conjuring magical foods to eat with his Steamwheedle Wagonbomb. For a while, they were mostly silent, except for Leshara giggling at the little Gnome's antics.

"So, then," Bart asked after a while. "Where shall we be going next?"

"We'll wait until Melissa and your ward get back from Felwood," Leshara said. "Then we'll find a way back to talk to the Blood Elves. They might be able to tell us more about Illidan."

Bart nodded. "I'm not so sure about him."

"Neither am I," Leshara said.

"I still don't entirely agree with the Kirin Tor having him involved in all of their secret meetings," Bart continued. "It's making me very uneasy."

"What Maiev said about his blindness," Leshara added. "It does not seem wise."

"You know," Bart began. "I've been thinking a lot about the Kirin Tor. The more I think about it, the less I trust them. Maybe it's always been this way, this whole 'knowledge is power' thing they teach."

"Teach?" Leshara asked. "I thought they just controlled Dalaran."

"Oh, they do," said Bart. "But it's a lot different. Originally, they were a sect of arcanology within Dalaran. By the time of the Third War, they ruled Dalaran as much as the Council of Six. Like with every sect, the Kirin Tor have their own beliefs which, originally, were not held by all in Dalaran, but have now come to be the accepted truth."

"What beliefs are these?" Leshara asked.

"That power is incorruptible," Bart continued. "That Light and Shadow are equals, two sides of the same coin. That the end justifies the means. For instance, since we've been investigating the Third War, let me tell you something that the Kirin Tor would like everyone to forget. Recently, they've been all about tolerance, even at the cost of endangering countless peoples. But during the aftermath of the Third War, when Lord Othmar Garithos imprisoned Kael'thas and the Blood Elves, they were more than willing to allow him to use the Violet Hold and their jailers to imprison the Blood Elves."

"I never knew you cared about the Blood Elves," Leshara added with a sour grimace.

"Not particularly," Bart added. "They were never very open or friendly when they were High Elves, and they were fools for abandoning the Alliance on account of one man's actions. But that's not my point."

"Well, what is your point?"

"Politics, my friend," Bart stated. "The Kirin Tor were in shambles after the Third War, when the Burning Legion destroyed Dalaran. They needed any help that they could get, and Garithos was exactly that. So if they had to look the other way, or even help him imprison the Blood Elves, in order to keep his protection, they were willing to do just that. The end justifies the means, you know."

"I see," Leshara nodded.

"Which is why it was absurd," Bart continued. "That the Kirin Tor professed moral outrage over the destruction of Theramore and drove the Blood Elves out of Dalaran, only to let them back in. Then again, one shouldn't look to the Kirin Tor for morality. They've been known to breed more than a few crazies over the years. Kel'thuzad, for one example; Normantis for another."

"Then what would you propose, then?" Leshara asked. "A change in leadership of the Kirin Tor?"

"I don't know," Bart sighed. "The Blue Dragonflight might have been an option, but Malygos is dead and Senegos doesn't have long to live either. The age of dragons is coming to an end."

Leshara lowered her head in sadness. She was among the group of adventurers and heroes in Val'sharah who were witnesses to the death of Ysera the Green. Furthermore, as she had been part of the Nexus War, due to her part in the Northrend Campaign, and was also present during the events leading up to the destruction of Deathwing, she saw firsthand the death of Malygos, the future prophesied death of Nozdormu, and the fall of the Earth-Warder. Only Alexstrasza remained of the original Dragon Aspects.

Bart, meanwhile, conjured a croissant, threw it up into the air and caught it in his mouth. Leshara grinned and let out a quiet chuckle. After taking a bite, Bart removed the croissant and levitated butter from their table into his hands.

"By the way, old girl," he continued. "Remind me to magically secure our doors when we go to sleep tonight. No telling what those goblins might do when we're asleep."

"Definitely," Leshara nodded.

Neither of them were very trusting of goblins, but Bart Manafizzle the most; the rivalry between goblins and gnomes was the stuff of legend. But despite this, Bart was on his toes, being in a goblin-ran town such as Ratchet. The Trade Princes ran the city, where profit was king. If the Kirin Tor were corrupt, then corruption was the rule of law in the goblin towns. For all of his bluster about picking up the pieces of Thrall's Horde, Garrosh Hellscream never addressed the corruption among the Bilgewater Cartel, which had joined the Horde under his rule. Trade Prince Gallywix had the power of the purse over the meat-headed former Warchief, and therefore he was allowed to run the towns under his control, or that owed protection money to him, as he saw fit.

As for Sylvanas, her efforts were directed at the front-lines in Stormheim, and so she left things in Kalimdor as they had been. Exploitation of every kind was the rule in these places, and Ratchet was no exception. With the right amount of coin, a person could get anything. Even practices as dishonorable as money laundering, prostitution, and even assassination were available to those who knew where to look. Manafizzle and Leshara knew this, and were therefore wary about the safety of this place. They had chosen this spot as it was within reasonable distance to Felwood, and from here they could take a ship to the Broken Isles if they wished to return to Dalaran.

Once they had finished their food and drink, Bart led the way to their rooms. As they were walking up the stairs to the upper rooms, they saw a troll and an orc talking to a goblin maiden in rather revealing garb. Bart made a gagging noise into his fist before pushing open the door into their room. Four beds were waiting for them inside, with one for each of them; the beds for Melissa and Fizzie would be waiting for them when they arrived.

"So what happens now?" he asked as he leaped onto the bed that was his; clearly made for people bigger than gnomes or goblins.

"Now we wait for Melissa and your ward to arrive," Leshara replied.

"Well, as long as we don't have any trouble with the locals, that will be just fine with me," Bart said as he doffed his hat and conjured up a pair of pajamas for himself.

"I'm a little worried about sharing a room with you," Leshara stated. "You are, after all, a man."

"Don't you worry," Bart said. "On my honor, I will not lay a finger on you."

"Just the same," Leshara replied. "I would be more comfortable if the ladies were here." The Draenei woman examined the metal rings that were nailed into her hooves; humans called them horse-shoes, but she was not a horse and her hooves still wore down on hard surfaces, as it was with all Draenei, and so she wore hoof-shoes. After a while, she stretched herself upon the bed.

"Ugh, I think that ale is starting to go to my head," Leshara sighed. "Bart?"

"Hmm?" the little Gnome replied.

"Have you ever thought about you and your ward...being something more?" she asked.

"More than what we are now?" Bart asked. "Not really, no. But it will be something nice to think about. What about you? Is there a strong male Draenei waiting for you on the Exodar somewhere? Someone with a broad chest, big muscles, a rock-like forehead, and many chin tentacles?"

Leshara sighed. "There was. But I'd rather not talk about it." She threw her head upon the pillow, then turned to look at Bart. "And they're called tendrils."

The Draenei began removing her armor while the Gnome pulled open the blankets of his bed to prepare to crawl inside them. Though their own minds were preoccupied with this and that, often their thoughts drifted to their companions far away in the woods to the northwest, if they found what they sought, if all was well for them, and how soon they would be returning to them.

* * *

Fizzie slowly awoke from slumber to find Melissa kneeling beside a camp-fire in the woods that were definitely not those of Val'sharah. The fire was burning, but a brighter light was blazing from the floating Naaru effigy upon her staff. The little Gnome shut her eyes at the sudden brightness, and immediately wondered what it was she had missed since she last fell asleep. She did not have to ponder on this for long, however. The darkness around them was filled with noises. There was the rushing of hooves and mocking, guttural voices that growled and clicked and hissed at them. In the distance, rustling leaves made the noises sound even greater and more numerous; they seemed to be surrounded.

"What's going on?" Fizzie asked.

"Satyrs," Melissa answered. "They came for us just as night fell. Draw your sword and stand your ground, we may yet have to fight them off."

Fizzie drew her sword and eyed the shadows for movement. Looking around, she saw that the Gilnean woman was lying fast asleep, her eyes shut and seemingly unaware of what was going on. Melissa, meanwhile, was kneeling down, muttering quietly to herself, with one hand upon the staff that stood now fast into the ground. Light was glowing from it seemed to keep the satyrs at bay, for just on the edges of its reach, Fizzie could see furry hands, hairy, bearded faces with yellow eyes, and long goat-horns looming out of the gloom. It seemed that they saw her as well, for she could hear laughing and voices speaking in the Common Tongue. Perhaps they wanted to fill this little Gnome, so easy a prey as they thought, with dread for her impending doom.

"It's only a little gnome," laughed one of the satyrs. "They will be easy prey."

"Delicious prey!" another added with a slavering sound, as if licking its hairy lips.

"Ugh!" Fizzie retched. "Over our dead bodies!"

"I'll take that as an invitation, then!" one of the satyrs said.

A large hairy figure leaped out of the shadows and lunged towards Fizzie. But, like a human child in the fullness of its newfound strength, Fizzie was too fast to be caught by the larger satyr. A large hairy paw reached for her, and she ducked under and rolled between its legs. Then, to anger her opponent, she seized hold of the satyr's tail. The large, hairy beast flailed about, trying to swat away the tiny nuisance with its large, clawed hands.

"It's a lowly gnome, brother!" one of the other satyrs taunted. "How difficult can it be to kill it?"

"What's the worst it can do to you, bite your ankles?" asked another with a laugh.

But Fizzie was making havoc of the satyr, as she held on to its tail. A swift hoof-kick to the head suddenly sent her flying backwards and onto the ground, squealing in pain. The satyr let out a bleating, mocking laugh then leaped at the little fallen Gnome. Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of white light that stabbed out lance-like at the satyr, striking it in the stomach while it was in mid-air. The spear of light threw him to the ground, coughing up black blood.

"Begone, creatures of shadow!" a voice echoed in command.

Melissa was now standing on her feet, her staff in her hand and her eyes blazing with Holy Light. In the blaze, the shapes of the satyrs could clearly be seen. Most of them were cowering in their madness, pawing the ground with their hooves and braying one to another. But their leader was glaring at Melissa; a wicked grin was upon his face, one no different than that which Xavius bore when he corrupted Ysera. Or, for that matter, no different than that upon Illidan's face as he mocked the Prophet.

"Foolish woman!" mocked the satyr. "Do you not know? The shadows reach out from the Nameless Void to take your world. Your precious Light cannot save you. Nothing will save you from what I'm about to do." The satyr licked his lips and cackled at her.

But his laughter died in his throat as an arrow pierced through his throat. Another struck him in the groin and a third through the heart, then he fell dead upon the ground. The others looked about wildly, wondering where this new attacker came from. Two arrows came whistling out of the shadows, striking one satyr in the eye and another in the leg. The one-eyed satyr scrambled off, crying "Madness! The Nightmare Lord is dead! Madness take us all!" and was seen no more. The wounded one tried to limp away to safety, but a figure leaped out of the shadows, landing feet first upon the satyr and shooting an arrow through the back of its neck; the arrow-head came bloodily out of its mouth.

Slowly the Light began to recede, appearing now as a soft glow given off by the staff. Melissa's eyes were no longer shining, and now she could clearly see her rescuer. A familiar face stood before her, belonging to a tall Night Elf woman draped in leather and fur and wielding a bow.

" _Ishnu alah_ , Melissa Redmane," the Night Elf greeted.

"Jenassa!" Melissa greeted. "It's been a long time. What brings you here? I thought you were in Ashenvale, fighting the Horde."

"And so I have been," said Jenassa. "But yesterday, a few hours ago, your druid companion encountered me while I was on my hunt. She told me of your mission to Felwood, and I asked for leave to come here. Felwood is a dangerous place, especially at night. The satyrs have always been a threat, even to my sisters and I."

"Thank you," Melissa said. "Your arrival was most timely."

"Hardly," lamented Jenassa. "Had we been here on time, those satyrs would never have thought to attack you." Jenassa walked over to the two dead satyrs and removed her arrows.

"They are a grim reminder of the sins of our past," she said. "We hunt them when we find them, but in the past, it has not been so easy. The first satyrs were corrupted by Xavius, the first of their kind, and they spread this curse to others of our race. Over ten thousand years, the curse lost its strength and we could no longer be corrupted by it. Nevertheless, they harass our sisters, pollute and corrupt our forests, and drive innocent beasts to madness." After removing the last of her arrows, she brought Fizzie over to Melissa's side, who examined where the satyr's hoof had hit her head. Jenassa made a quick count, then swore in Darnassian.

"One of them got away," she continued. "There may be more of them this night. Where were you headed?"

"After our business was concluded here," Melissa answered. "We were making for Ratchet."

"That is a dangerous journey," Jenassa commented. "The empty plains of the Northern Barrens are Horde territory, and it will be many miles from the eaves of Ashenvale to the coast." She mused quietly for a moment, hesitating between duty and an old acquaintance.

"You will not wish," Jenassa said at last. "To stay in Felwood any longer with those satyrs about. If you would be ruled by me, you will pack up everything and come with me. My sisters and I can escort you safely through Ashenvale under the cover of darkness and have you at the eaves by morning."

"What about her?" Melissa asked, gesturing to Lucilla.

"She appears to be waking up now as we speak," Jenassa stated.

Lucilla softly sighed and lifted her dark head from where it rested. She gave a start at the appearance of the stranger, and she began to transform; but the hair on her neck and the claw-like finger-nails receded when she saw that it was a Night Elf. As soon as she had her wits about her, she told Melissa all that she had seen within the Emerald Dream regarding the battle here and Illidan Stormrage. Melissa's face blanched when she heard about Kil'jaeden and the Lich King.

She stammered as she spoke. "Are you sure about what you saw?"

"Yes," Lucilla nodded. "Kil'jaeden ordered Illidan to destroy the Lich King." She made a wiry smirk. "But that means little to us, doesn't it? The Lich King is dead, and was not Kil'jaeden defeated in the Tomb of Sargeras?"

Melissa nodded; the demon-lord Kil'jaeden had been defeated in the depths of the ruin that had once been the Temple of Elune. But as for the Lich King, it was indeed a dark matter. She had been joined the Argent Crusade as a healer, after the Wrathgate devastated the manpower of the Horde and the Alliance, and she had been among those who had fought and defeated the Lich King atop the Frozen Throne. As for what had happened that fateful day atop Icecrown Glacier, she could not tell. Those who had survived the assault swore an oath of silence regarding the terrible things that had happened and which they had seen; so far, Melissa had broken that oath only to her husband, from whom she kept no secrets.

But now those secrets were cause for a truly threatening thought. There was one person she could talk to about this; one of those who had sworn the oath.

Jenassa, meanwhile, had been standing guard, keeping watch. Nevertheless, she heard everything that had gone on. Melissa turned to her with her decision, but saw a look of disapproval upon the Night Elf's face.

"You came here seeking news about the Betrayer?" she asked.

"Yes," Melissa replied.

"He and his Illidari are pretentious fools," Jenassa replied. "Always whining like infants about how unfair the druids were to them, about how much they've supposedly 'sacrificed' for the safety of Azeroth: as if we have sacrificed nothing! We gave up our immortality to destroy the Legion at the Battle of Hyjal, yet they esteem that sacrifice as though it were nothing?! And what have they sacrificed their supposed 'everything' for? Power! Power for themselves, the very power that broke our world. What's more, they have used that power to corrupt the forest. Satyrs like these serve them, and other, more foul, creatures. Every action they have done threatens our world."

"I understand," Melissa nodded; the verity of Jenassa's words sinking in deeper amid her thoughts about the Northrend campaign.

"Now, then," Jenassa interjected. "I ask that you make your decision and make it fast. The night is not very young, and these satyrs will return. Will you remain here or take my advice?"

"Alright," Melissa said at last, after a thoughtful pause. "We'll go by night. The sooner we reach Ratchet, the better."

"Say no more," Jenassa returned.

"Then I suppose this is where we part ways," Lucilla stated.

"What? You're leaving?"

"Yes," Lucilla nodded. "I've never been fond of the company of others, even before the curse. Now that I've shown you what happened here, I must be on my way back to the Dreamgrove." She bowed her head in respect to Melissa, then turned to Jenassa. "The Scythe be with you, Night Elf."

"Elune light your path, Worgen sister," Jenassa said in farewell.

The druid then turned her back on the little group and disappeared into the night. As for those who remained, Melissa whistled into the night. From out of the darkness there came an answer, and her owl-seeker appeared from out of the trees. Jenassa whispered words in Darnassian into the night and a large nightsaber walked out at her command. The human and the Night Elf together lifted Fizzie onto the back of the nightsaber, then the two of them took off southward at a swift pace. Melissa blinked and rubbed her eyes, fighting off the urge to sleep that was coming back to her after the rush of the satyr attack.

All through the night the two of them fled swiftly, down unseen paths that only the Night Elves knew, from ten thousand years of walking these forests. Melissa fought off sleep every minute and every hour; in her mind, she went over the events that had happened in order that she would have a plan once she arrived at Ratchet. She would, of course, tell Leshara about what had happened, as well as privately talk to her about the oath. Since they were near a port, she hoped that she might purchase a ship that would take them back to the Eastern Kingdoms, particularly to Light's Hope chapel. The attack by her old friend reminded her of how close she had been to being taken away from her children. She needed to see them again, and she knew that Hannah, her eldest daughter, named for her old friend, was at Light's Hope in training to become a Paladin.

It was against her wishes.

But as for her old friend, she remembered the knife that rested within the bag slung over her shoulder. She would have to find someone who could discern it. Perhaps they could help her learn about what the bearer of the knife had seen regarding the Desolate Council; quite a long shot, but it was no strange thing for items to be used for divining purposes by the shaman of the Dwarves and Draenei.

The night wore on and weariness grew stronger within her. She wondered if she would be able to stay awake throughout the whole night. Furthermore, she knew that there was still a long way to go yet before she reached Ratchet. Whether by land or by air, she would be an easy target for any Horde scouts within the Barrens. She hoped that she could stay awake long enough to keep the three of them - herself, Fizzie, and her seeker - safe from harm.

At last the trees began to grow thin and pale dawn could be seen in the east, as a sliver of orange upon the horizon. The two of them passed out from the eaves of the forest, and Jenassa helped place Fizzie upon the back of Melissa's owl-seeker. Even then, afar off was heard the beating sounds of drums.

"Listen," Jenassa commented. "Orcish drums greet the coming of the day. There will be battle."

"Is there not always battle here?" Melissa sighed.

"It cannot last forever," Jenassa returned. "The druids' powers over nature has decreased; even one so mighty as Shan'do Stormrage cannot unmake the damage to Ashenvale that the Horde's deforestation has caused. Now we hear that an undead Quel'dorei rules the Horde as their Warchief. They have an ancient grudge with my people over their refusal to give up the magic that destroyed our world during the War of the Ancients. Whether the Burning Legion stands or falls, I fear we may soon see the burning of all woods in Kalimdor."

"I pray that day never comes," Melissa assured her.

"As do we all," Jenassa mused. "For now, our ways part yet again."

"Farewell, Jenassa," Melissa said. "I hope we may see each other again in happier times."

"Fly swift," the Night Elf said. "Do not tarry; the early morning is your cloak, but it will not linger. Fly south until you come to the Great Divide, then east until you come to Ratchet. Goddess watch over you."

With that, Jenassa stepped backwards into the forest. Beneath the shadows of Ashenvale her form almost completely vanished, leaving only a glimpse of silver eyes. Meanwhile, Melissa gave an order to her seeker and took off into the cool air of the early morning sky.

* * *

The morning in Ratchet was growing old as the Draenei warrior sat in the common room of the goblin-owned tavern. They had spent the night in the inn and yet Melissa and Fizzie had not yet returned. Bart, meanwhile, excused himself from the morning breakfast to make a quick examination of his flying machine. No sooner had the little goblin waitress delivered the food to Leshara's table but Bart came walking back in on his short legs. Using a teleportation spell, he blinked from the floor to the top of the table and took a seat to eat his breakfast.

"Is everything alright?" Leshara asked.

"Oh, yes, exactly," Bart replied. "Those goblins kept their filthy green paws off the flying machine."

"Tell me again," Leshara asked. "Why you couldn't conjure something up that couldn't be stolen so easily? You're a powerful mage."

"A _very_ powerful mage," Bart clarified. "But a mutual friend of ours let me borrow it for a while, as she had no pressing need for it. It's a two-seater, so that was convenient for our purpose." He took a piece of goblin short-bread and nibbled on it for a while, flicking crumbs out of his beard. After a while, he looked about and turned back to the Draenei. "She hasn't returned yet?"

"No," Leshara replied. "And I am starting to worry. We are in Horde territory, after all. These goblins might protect us for the money they make from our service, but outside Ratchet, it is very dangerous."

Over the din of clattering cups and the gentle murmur of morning gossip and conversation, there was a muffled screech heard somewhere outside. Within a few minutes, their companions walked into the bar and Melissa's hand shot up to greet them. They came to their table and sat down. Melissa hailed one of the waitresses down and ordered a little something for herself and Fizzie, then turned back to Leshara and Bart.

"I've flown all night from Felwood," she sighed. "I haven't slept a wink in who knows how long. If it's all the same, I need a place to sleep. I'm going to see if I can purchase a room for myself and rest up."

"Sleeping during the day?" Leshara asked.

"Hey!" Melissa groaned. "Not all of us are immortal Draenei warriors. I myself slept a lot during the day when I was carrying Talus and Maryem. You get rest when you are able, because most of the time you can't rest. We'll need all our strength." Her eyes closed and she almost fell face first onto the table, but then jerked back up with a start.

"Dear me, I am too tired for this!" she sighed. "When the food arrives, have it sent up to my room please. I'll probably pick at it later today, but I need to rest." She asked Leshara which room was hers, so that she could rent one that was close to it. As she went to find the innkeeper, she turned back around. "I almost forgot; Leshara, come to my room tonight at sundown. I have something to talk about with you; and come alone."

"As you wish," Leshara replied.

The day was a long, hot, and boring one. Leshara had little to do but see to their animals, tend to her hooves, and maybe have another meal closer to mid-day. Bart, meanwhile, took Fizzie with him to watch as he played a game of Hearthstone for money with some of the local goblin patrons. For most folk, this was a sure-fire way to part with most, if not all, of their gold; but Bart knew a few magical tricks that could get him the victory in a match or two.

Towards the afternoon, Leshara led the two gnomes to the beach just outside Ratchet, where they could enjoy the cool of the evening near the water's edge. Bart agreed if only he had plenty of pina colada and that Leshara kept a close eye on his winnings. While they were thus enjoying themselves, Leshara kept her eye on the sun. As soon as it vanished behind Stonetalon Mountain to the west, she made her way back to the inn and to Melissa's room.

At the door, she knocked once and Melissa quickly came to answer. She was dressed in a simple white chemise, though she had covered herself with her cloak when she heard the knock. Once she came in, Melissa offered Leshara a seat and a drink of water; no wine for tonight. They sat down at the little table beside the bed and drank their fill of cool, fresh water.

"I'd almost forgotten how hot it is down in the Barrens," Melissa sighed, wiping the sweat off her brow.

"This is nothing like the Tanaan Jungle, though," Leshara stated. "Over there, you couldn't breathe the air, it was so thick and humid." Melissa chuckled fondly, then sighed. "Is there something wrong?"

"Leshara," Melissa said. "I need to tell you something very important."

"What is it?" asked the Draenei.

The human looked at the door, making sure there were no shadows at its lower crack, then got up to close the windows. Leshara protested, but Melissa dismissed this, saying that it was important, despite the heat. Once the windows were closed, she turned back to the Draenei and sat down across from her.

"Do you remember what happened in Northrend?" Melissa asked.

Leshara sighed. She had been among the first to join the Alliance forces at Valiance Keep, at the start of the invasion of Northrend. While Melissa had joined the fight after the Wrathgate, Leshara had firsthand experience of most of the long, slow march through the frigid Borean Tundra, the battles at Venture Bay, and the final push through Dragonblight. So many memories, most of them filled with darkness and death.

"Yes, I remember," Leshara answered. "And I also remember that we were going to keep quiet about it. Remember our oath?"

"I do remember the oath," Melissa said. "I know how much it meant to you. After all, you were still new to the Alliance. You idolized our leaders - Bolvar Fordragon, Tirion Fordring, King Varian, even the Scarlet Crusaders - for their unflinching defense of the Light. But..." She sighed. "...something has changed."

"What could possibly change that would warrant breaking a vow?" Leshara asked.

Melissa sighed again. "It involves what we saw in Felwood. After we visited the Dreamgrove, we found ourselves a druid who was willing to go with us to Felwood and speak to the spirits there, to learn what we needed to know about Illidan Stormrage. But what we learned there was terrible. At the end of the Third War, Illidan was in league with Kil'jaeden; he promised him power if he would destroy the Lich King at Icecrown."

Leshara nodded. "And he failed."

"Yes," Melissa said. "But when I heard about this, I remembered what we saw atop the Frozen Throne."

"We swore not to talk about that with anyone," Leshara reminded. "For the memory of Bolvar Fordragon."

"I know," Melissa frowned. "I know the Light will not look kindly on my disrespecting his last wishes to us, and to our vow. But this needs to be told." She looked about again, first to the door, then back to the windows, before speaking again in a lower voice.

"The ghost of King Terenas," she whispered. "What he said about how there must always be a Lich King."

"Melissa..."

"The Scourge would be the undoing of the world without its master's command," Melissa concluded. "If Illidan had succeeded in destroying the Frozen Throne, would not the restless Scourge become a plague upon the world? We would have no rest, day or night, until we were all consumed by death."

Leshara's eyes widened in shock. "This...this changes everything."

"What do you mean?" Melissa asked.

"Bart and I found Maiev Shadowsong," Leshara continued. "She had quite a bit to say about Illidan. But she said that he gave up his eyes to Sargeras to gain his control of the fel; and that by doing so, he became his vessel."

"Light preserve us!" Melissa gasped. She had heard of Sargeras before, the Dark Titan that created the Burning Legion and commanded them from the depths of the Twisting Nether; what she had heard had been spoken in whispers of trepidation, rumors of great power and the embodiment of the burning shadow.

"Now you tell me this, and it starts to make sense in my mind," Leshara said. "Acting as Kil'jaeden's servant, he would have destroyed the Frozen Throne and brought chaos to the world. The Legion might have invaded again before we ever arrived on Azeroth; we could have been walking into a trap!"

"So many lives lost," Melissa mused. "All for his lust for power."

"Yes," Melissa nodded. She then paused, her brow furrowing. "Wait a minute, there. Illidan was with us when we fought Kil'jaeden. He defeated his master. Why would he do that if he was serving him?"

"But if he was truly on our side," Melissa replied. "Why would he destroy a Naaru? Un..." She paused, realization dawning upon her face. "No, wait. There was another thing. In Felwood, we learned that Illidan's demonic visage, the horns, wings, and hooves that he now wears, came from his absorbing the Skull of Gul'dan."

"The one who died in the Tomb of Sargeras?" Leshara asked.

"The same," Melissa continued. "His desire was again for personal gain; he said that he wanted to show his brother his 'true power.' He took the Skull for power, just as he claimed the fel during the War of the Ancients for power. All he wants is more power for himself..."

"Like the Kirin Tor," Leshara mused.

"What was that?" Melissa asked.

"I'll explain later," the Draenei dismissed. "Go on."

"Like I said, all Illidan wants is power," Melissa stated. "Maybe that's why he aided us in destroying his former master? He wanted power for himself, to be the master and serve no one else."

"That certainly sounds like Illidan," Leshara said. "If he balked at authority before, he certainly would want to have authority over others, so that he would be answerable to no one else."

"Does he want authority over the Legion itself?" Melissa asked. "To be the once and future prince of darkness and shadow, seated upon the Burning Throne of Antorus?"

"I don't think he has such goals," Leshara said. "More likely, he is far too short-sighted for such ambition, and only seeks power for himself. That would explain why the Blood Elves were attracted to him; they wanted power to slake their own thirst for magic."

"The Blood Elves?" Melissa asked.

"Yes," Leshara nodded. "Maiev also revealed to us that the Blood Elves rescued Illidan from her grasp. Perhaps they might know something about what he did in Outland?"

"What about Akama?" Melissa asked. "As I understand, he had some dealing with Illidan, didn't he?"

"He did," Leshara sighed. "He made a deal with the Betrayer to drive the demons out of Karabor, but no demons were ever truly driven. Instead, one dark lord was replaced by another."

"Truly," Melissa nodded. "If only the Blood Elves were not allied with the Horde, it would be easier to speak with them. Unless, wait!"

"What?"

"It just might be possible!" her face lit up with delight.

"What is it?" Leshara asked, her curiosity piqued. "Tell me!"

"We could go to Light's Hope Chapel!" Melissa exclaimed. "There are Blood Elves there, and the Conclave is in good standing with the Silver Hand after defeating the Legion's assault on Netherlight Temple. We might find the answers that we seek there."

"That could very well work," Leshara said. "Bart has to return the flying machine after all. Perhaps he can teleport us all over..."

A knock at the door disturbed their conversation. Melissa let out a quiet yelp and reached for the cloak to cover herself. Leshara turned towards the door but said nothing. There came a second knock, then a voice spoke out from the other side: it was not the voice of anyone in their party.

"We know you're in there, Leshara," said the voice. "If you don't answer at once, we'll force our way in there."

"Come on in," Leshara spoke, despite a furtive glance from Melissa. But it was as useless as the voice's warning; a bright flash of blue light behind them appeared, and when it vanished there stood a mage wearing the purple colors of the Kirin Tor.

"By order of the Council of Six," the mage ordered, speaking to Leshara. "You are to return to Argus and resume your position among the Legionfall Armies at once."

"What is the meaning of this?" Melissa spoke up. "Have you no decency?"

"The orders of the Council cannot wait, High Priest," the mage replied. "Even for one of your lofty stature. Leshara has abandoned her post and must be returned at once."

"Wait, abandoned?" Melissa asked. "I think you're mistaken. Turalyon gave her permission to leave."

"No such orders have reached the Council from the High Exarch," the mage returned. "Her orders are to return to her post at once." He turned back to Leshara. "Failure to comply would be most...inconvenient for you."

"Is that a threat?" Melissa asked.

"Your pardon, High Priest," the mage returned. "But you are no in position to challenge the orders of the Council on her behalf. They recognize your place as the head of the Conclave, but you do not hold any power over us. If the Council orders you to jump, your only question should be 'how high.'"

"She answers to King Anduin and Prophet Velen, not to the Council of Six!" Melissa interjected. "Or perhaps I should take this matter to the King? He'd be very interested to know that our supposed allies are prohibiting the freedom of his subjects to come and go as they please!"

"Mels, no!" Leshara said at last, after a long period of silence. "It's okay." She turned back to the mage. "I'll be back on Argus very soon."

"See that you don't hesitate," the mage returned. "The Violet Eye has ways of knowing what their persons of interest do at all times." With that, he teleported out of the room.

"The nerve of him!" Melissa snarled. "Threatening you like that, after what you and the other Valarjar have done for the war effort! By the Light, I can't believe I actually wanted to join them once upon a time!"

"You shouldn't have made that outburst, Mels," Leshara sighed. "He had every right to do as he did."

"Wait, what?" Melissa asked, doing a double take. "What are you saying?"

Leshara sighed. "I lied to you about getting Turalyon's permission to leave Argus. I returned here secretly without permission and without notice."

"But why?" Melissa asked. "I mean, you and I, we both believe in the Light. We have our duty to stop the Burning Legion. And you, of all people, should want to drive them out of your homeland!"

"Argus isn't my homeland!" Leshara firmly said; too firmly, it seemed, for Melissa balked at her response. "My sincere apologies, I shouldn't have said it that way. It's only, well, I've spent some two centuries on Argus, and a little more than that on Draenor. For over ten thousand years, I and my people have been wanderers; for the present time, however, Azeroth is my home." She turned her gaze towards the window.

"That green orb hanging in the sky," she continued. "Raining demons down upon us day and night, upsetting the elements. It is a graveyard. Death, destruction, and disease are everywhere; darkness and fel grip the corners of that shattered world." She blinked for a moment, then dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her fingers

"What's wrong, Leshara?" Melissa asked, her voice softening.

"You know the story of how we left Argus?" Leshara asked.

"Only pieces of it," Melissa continued. "The Dark Titan offered your three leaders the fel, and the Prophet Velen sensed something was wrong. Then he was contacted by the Naaru who showed him the truth, after which he led all those who would listen to flee Argus on the Exodar."

"That is true," Leshara nodded. "Ever since we returned there...all the Eredar in that place have been speaking things; lies. I believe many in the Kirin Tor and the Armies of Legionfall believe them; they are enamored with Illidan's worship of power and the Kirin Tor believe blasphemous things about the Light."

"I know," Melissa nodded. She had heard them as well, especially being the High Priest of the Conclave; such things as the Light creating darkness and the darkness creating Light, and that the Light cannot exist without the darkness and likewise the darkness cannot be without the Light.

"Hearing those words again," Leshara muttered. "From those who were once my people...even from him..."

"Who?"

"Sit down, Melissa," Leshara said. "Let me tell you a story."

* * *

 **(AN: I had little to do in WoW, so I went to Argus to play through the story-line, and I was appalled at how the writers have chosen to drag Velen through the dirt! He chose to save his people, and it was a wise and noble choice of his; but instead, because Blizzard has a hard-on for tearing down noble characters, they've turned his choice to save his people into "cowardice" and "betrayal", all the while fellatiating the true Betrayer and coward, gazing down upon us with his smug, Xavius grin, telling us how "not prepared" we are.)**

 **(Another thought came to mind, one that has more relevance to the story than the subplot my brother insisted be thrown in at the end. One thing that angered me about the whiny Illidari, is how they say "do not blindly follow anyone" [ironic considering how they are ALL blind], but then at the same time go "Lord Illidan knows the way." So...is he the only one we should blindly follow, then? Also, their fel powers I feel could be abused greatly to get back at the people they don't like [like the Wardens and Druids for the Night Elf demon hunters], but, as usual, the Kirin Tor [-cough- Blizzard!] blindly follow and believe everything they say.)**


	7. Light and Shadow

**(AN: Sometimes you need someone good in your life to remind you that all is not evil. And while I write these author's notes, the story is unpublished and there are no reviews yet; however, I am certain that when the reviews start coming in, it will be all hate messages from fanboys of Illidan, Garrosh, Sylvanas and assorted WoW vloggers. And I will certainly feel that there is no good in the world [as I am wont]. But, like with this story, I feel that one should still stand fast in what is right and true and good, rather than following every lie told by the revisionists in their attempt to make evil good and good evil. That mentality drove me while I was writing this particular chapter, where the story starts to congeal.)**

* * *

 **Light and Shadow**

The golden grass of Mac'Aree shivered under a cool afternoon breeze. In the distance, a marsul cooed to its pups. A herd of talbuk galloped freely across a distant, violet hill. Far off, the great city, the holiest of places of the Eredar, shone in the arcane light of its many magical enchantments. It shone like the moon and its rivers, like veins of glistening silver, were visible even at night.

Upon this hill stood the two Eredar, as the Draenei were once called before their exile. They were both of them tall and fair to behold, blue of skin with shining light-blue eyes. The male was powerfully built, a mountain of strength, quite unlike the wispy mages of Dalaran. Lofty were the ridges upon his cranium and his tendrils were long and rested upon his broad chest. His clothing glistened with magical enchantments and glowing runes woven into the cloth; for he was a mage, a respected profession among the Eredar of old. The woman was slender and her hair was long, unbound and black as the night without the moons' light. Two horns extended from either side of her cranium, sweeping backward along the sides of her head. She wore an elegant dress that was greatly bejeweled; her family were jewelers of great skill. Her hands were slim and graceful as one reached up to rest upon the taller male's cheek.

"I am happy, my love," the woman said. "You have made me the happiest woman in Mac'Aree."

"It gladdens my heart to hear you say this, _ekliein_ ," the man replied. "Soon we will be married and our lives indelibly bound together. There is no one I would rather spend eternity with than you."

The woman's cheeks turned a darker shade of blue and she smiled. Her hand gently slid down and came to rest on the man's chest, right above his heart. His hand came up and gently caressed the tendrils that hanged behind her ears. Her smile widened and she giggled, planting a kiss on the palm of his hand.

"There's nothing more that I could ask for," the woman said. She meant it; here she was, in the solitude of a distant hill in the country-side around Mac'Aree, a place she had frequented often as a child and young woman. Not until she had become very close to the man standing before her had she brought him out to see it. Now here they were, sharing the peace and tranquility of this idyllic hill in the country together; two whose lives were entwined in vows of betrothal, and soon to be vows of marriage.

"There is something..." the man said. The woman looked up into his eyes, wondering what more he could ask for.

"What?" she chuckled softly.

"Have you heard about the Titan's offer?" the man asked.

She sighed. "Who could not? All of Mac'Aree knows about it, if not all of Argus."

"Does this trouble you?" he asked, noting that her smile had faded.

"I don't want to talk about this, Kogaan," she sighed.

"Why does it trouble you?" he repeated.

"Why does it not trouble you?" she returned.

The man chuckled. "What is there to be troubled about? Power is power. Those with power should seek it and wield it without fear."

The woman stepped back. "Does it not trouble you," she asked. "That the Triumvirate are not unanimous about this gift? If there was nothing to be afraid of, they would unanimously agree to have it bestowed upon us all."

"Two out of three cannot be wrong," reasoned the man. "Besides, Kil'jaeden supports the gift, and he is the wisest of the three."

"I have heard what Velen had said about this 'gift'," the woman replied. "I believe that his words may have merit."

"He is afraid," the man returned. "Velen's vaunted caution now holds us back from becoming what we were meant to be; powerful and majestic."

"But that caution has guided us for so long," said the woman. "Kogaan, please, listen to me; there's something wrong about this gift. It is _man'ari_ ; not as it seems." A shadow now passed over Kogaan's face. "What is it?"

He turned his shoulder to the woman, his eyes cast to the ground.

"I am disappointed," he said. "I had hoped that we would share in this gift as well; that you and I would accept it as one, as a token of the things we will share for all time." He turned back to her, a look of pleading in his eyes. "Think of it, _eklien_ ; you a queen among queens, cloaked in power and majesty. And I, your humble and loving servant, at your side."

"I do not wish to be a queen," the woman returned. "Nor do I wish for power merely for its own sake. I wish to live as I have always lived; a life of peace and devotion to the Light, carrying on my family's trade, and..." She placed her hand upon his shoulder. "...perhaps, other things as well?"

"Nothing will be as it once was," Kogaan said. "The Titan says that the Light alone cannot save us from the darkness; only this gift can do that. If you wish to protect this world that we have, and secure the future for us, I ask...no, I beg you to accept this gift!"

The woman's head fell. She knew that it meant much to her betrothed, this gift; she could see the pleading in his eyes, hear it in his voice, and practically feel it radiating off of him. If there was anything that she could have done to please him, she would certainly have done so. But things were different back then; her faith was strong and she held fast to her principles. For this reason she hadn't surrendered to him her maidenhood, though he had asked and though her body yearned for his; not until they were married would they be so joined.

"My mind is made up, my love," she said at last, her voice as soft and loving as she could make it. "I am...sorry."

"So am I, Leshara."

* * *

For a moment, the Draenei woman paused in the telling of her story. Melissa noticed how much the telling of the story broke the heart of her friend. She kept her eyes on the table between them, and her hands trembled as she spoke; those blue hands, slender but no longer graceful. Years of battle made her hands tremble ever so slightly, an issue of years of fighting, steel against steel and bearing assault upon assault upon her shield.

"What happened?" Melissa asked.

"Kogaan and I were parted," Leshara sighed. "I heeded the Prophet's warning, while he remained on Argus. I never thought he was still alive; so many wars the Burning Legion has fought, across many worlds, and for countless years. I thought he was dead. But then, while I was on Argus, I..." She gasped, choking on her words.

"It's okay," Melissa assured her.

"No, it's not," Leshara shook her head. "I heard his voice. I saw him. I saw him, Melissa; but not as I described him to you now, not as I knew him. He has become... _man'ari_. Something terribly wrong, corrupted, evil. You would call him an Eredar; one of the overlords of the Burning Legion."

Melissa said nothing at first, being stunned into silence with the shock of this revelation.

"I cannot bear to see him like this," Leshara said, shaking her head. "But the Legionfall Armies would not let me leave Argus. So I left of my own accord. I didn't tell you this before for two reasons; first, as I said, I thought he was dead and when I arrived here, your world seemed much more interesting to me, so I never brought the matter to light. The second reason was that, well, it seemed very silly to bring it up."

"It's not silly," Melissa assured her.

"But is it not, though?" Leshara asked. "I am a grown woman, many thousands of years older than even the Kotikei. I should not be running from my problems like a frightened child, nor placing the desires of my own heart above the needs of the many."

Melissa nodded. She recalled vividly the dark day in Val'sharah when the Nightmare Lord consumed Ysera the Green Dragon, one of the last Dragon Aspects; she had been there that day with Leshara. The foul Xavius taunted Tyrande Whisperwind all throughout the darkened woods, then left her with an impossible choice: save the Temple of Elune and risk losing her beloved Malfurion, or save him and let the corrupted Ysera destroy the Temple. In that dark day, Tyrande made the decision to put her personal interests, her love, aside and protect the Temple, as was her duty. Melissa knew that, had she been in Tyrande's position, she could not have done the same.

 _That is why_ , she thought, _she is a leader. She can make the impossible choices, and put her people and her duty ahead of her own heart._

"I don't fault you on that," Melissa said. "My only issue is that you withheld the truth from me, after all we've been through."

"I know, and for that I am truly sorry," Leshara bemoaned.

Melissa sighed, closing her eyes for one brief moment. Centering herself with a few deep breaths, she let herself be calm and peaceful, opening her heart and mind to which ever course of action the Light would direct for her. Then, like a voice in a woodland clearing to an eight-year-old girl, the answer came to her.

"So when are we leaving?"

"We?"

"Yes, we," Melissa replied. "Consider this your penance for keeping this from me." She said this only slightly sarcastically, with a slight grin on her face. Leshara did not respond and she wondered if she wasn't being too light on this issue. "You need to face him again, this Kogaan. Especially now that you're on Argus regularly."

"Why do you say this?"

"I've heard the things those demons are saying," Melissa continued. "These Eredar, the ones who were once your people. They blame you for the corruption of their world, calling you 'cowards' and 'traitors.'" She blinked. "I can only imagine what that must feel like, to hear those words from a loved one."

"It is unbearable," Leshara sighed. Melissa reached out and took Leshara's slender, scarred, and trembling blue hand in her own smaller, peach-colored one.

"Also, I'm your friend," Melissa reminded her. "That's what friends do; they support each other in their trials."

"I could never ask this of you," Leshara dismissed, shaking her head. "It is too great a burden."

"I know you wouldn't," Melissa replied with a smile. "As for this burden, it is not yours alone to carry. We will carry them together, you and I. Alone it may be too great a burden, but together, you will overcome this darkness."

Leshara was now the one who smiled. "I am surprised that, after all we've been through, your heart is still soft. But, then again, I am older than you and have seen many more horrors than you have seen. Remember when you told me about the Horde invading your lands and the sounds of their drums haunting your dreams? I saw their savagery with my own eyes when they slaughtered my people."

Melissa chuckled mirthlessly. "I am not as tender-hearted as I was when we met all those years ago. Just several days ago, I lashed out at a Shadow Priest in the Netherlight Temple. I shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?" Leshara returned. "These Shadow-mongers need to be taken down a notch, especially since the Kirin Tor has more or less given creedence to the Cult of Forgotten Shadows by all of their talk of balance and trusting in oneself rather than in the Light."

"So it's decided, then," Melissa said. "We'll go to Light's Hope Chapel first thing in the morning, speak to the Silver Hand, then be on our way to Argus."

"Yes," Leshara nodded. "Together."

* * *

Leshara, who was still fully dressed, went back outside and called for Bart and Fizzie to return to their rooms. They came back in and gathered in the room that Leshara had purchased the night before in order to make their plans. Melissa was now dressed again and preparing the egg that Lucilla had acquired for her. In no time at all, she had prepared for the little party herb-baked egg for them to eat; more of a breakfast item than an evening meal, but they did not turn it down. Over the egg, into which they dipped some stale bread that had been bought earlier that day here in town, they made their plans. Leshara and Melissa told the two Gnomes about the intruder and his demand, as well as their plans to 'slay a very powerful demon' on Argus; they said nothing about the Lich King or Kogaan.

"I'm quite certain," Bart said. "That I can teleport us to Light's Hope Chapel. It will be a stretch for me, to be sure; usually it takes more than one mage to summon a party clear to the other side of the world. I'll need some mana afterwards, so don't be asking for any more miracles; at least for a while."

"It will certainly be a miracle, defeating this demon," Leshara vaguely replied.

"Although," Bart stated. "I'm not all that happy about the Kirin Tor threatening you like that. Who made them rulers over anyone?"

"Well, technically," Melissa interjected. "Dalaran has always acted independently of the other kingdoms of Lordaeron."

"Not important!" the Gnome exclaimed. "We weren't pressed into serving the Kirin Tor; they invited us to join their efforts to stop the Burning Legion and we accepted. I'm starting to see why Millhouse Manastorm acts independently of them: I mean, apart from his proclivity for bringing doom and mayhem in his wake."

"Um, excuse me?" Fizzie spoke up. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what about the knife?"

"What knife?" Leshara asked.

"The assassin's knife," Fizzie said. "When we arrived at the entrance to the Dreamgrove, an undead assassin attacked us. She tried to kill Melissa, but failed and escaped, leaving this knife behind."

"An assassin!" exclaimed Leshara. "Mels, why didn't you say anything about this assassin? We're being tracked by the Forsaken now! I wonder if Light's Hope is all that safe for us anyway, being so near to the Undercity."

"It was _her_ knife," Melissa said. "And I'll tell you about it later." Leshara nodded, a frown upon her face. "But thanks, Fizzie, for bringing that back up: I had completely forgotten about it. We need someone who can find out where the knife has been."

"May I see the knife?" Bart asked.

Fizzie produced the knife from her belt and gave it to Bart. He held it in his hands for a while, then began muttering an incantation under his breath as his hands moved about the knife, seeming to manipulate some kind of image that only he could see. There was a shimmer of blue light for a brief moment, then Bart sighed.

"Well, it was certainly a Forsaken knife," he sighed. "But I doubt you needed me to tell you that. It's been enchanted to resist arcane augury; whoever gave your assassin this knife didn't want to be tracked."

"A dead end," Melissa sighed.

"Not necessarily," Leshara said. "Where the arcane fails, the elements may reveal something. Their power is great and perhaps can assuage the enchantment on this knife."

"Do we know any shaman that can help us, though?" Bart asked.

"I know of one," Melissa said. "But he may not help us, not if we all appear before him all at once."

"Why not?" Fizzie asked.

"He's a Tauren," Melissa returned.

Leshara scoffed. "Are there no shaman among my people, or even of the _Dastrei_ , that we must seek out one from the Horde?"

"He is a friend from the Third War," Melissa said. "And he's been of great help to me at times. Also, he is not very far from us now. If memory serves, he can be found in a little cave in the mountains on the northern borders of Mulgore."

"I have nothing against the Tauren as a people," Leshara said. "They have respect for the spirits and the Light, as do my people. In fact, I find it odd that they are still with the Horde at all, due to the recent dishonorable behavior of the Horde from Garrosh onward. But I would not wish to endanger us; Mulgore is Horde territory, and we have our duty ahead of us."

"I understand," Melissa said. "That is why only one of us should go. I would go myself, but there is someone I would like to see once we reach Light's Hope. Perhaps only one of us should go..."

"I'll go," Fizzie spoke up.

"No, Fizzie," interjected Bart. "It's too dangerous!"

"I'm not afraid of any danger," the little Gnome replied. "Besides, I'm a small target. Who better to sneak into the mountains of Mulgore than a Gnome?"

"Just the same, he doesn't know you," Melissa said. "He is a kind soul, but even a small warrior of the Alliance could be seen as a danger in his eyes. It's also a long walk across the Barrens, all of which is Horde territory."

"Hey!" Fizzie exclaimed, turning to Bart. "You could loan me your flying machine and I could get to the mountains quicker that way."

"So much for sneaking," Leshara commented.

"Um," Bart mumbled. "Well, actually, I said that I'd take it back to Marion once I was done with it."

"Oooh!" Fizzie squealed angrily, making a sour face.

"Bart, let her use the flying machine," Leshara insisted. "Like you said, it is a dangerous journey and she will need all the help she can get."

"Yes," added Melissa.

"Please?" begged Fizzie, her eyes widening to impossibly cute levels. "I promise I won't break it and I'll bring it back in one piece."

Bart sighed. "Oh, alright. But I expect to see it back in one piece. I'll give you the rest of the oil; it should be enough to get you out of there and back to more...hospitable lands."

"Oh, thank you!" squealed Fizzie with delight.

"I'll tell you all that you need to say once you find him," Melissa said. "You and Leshara are sleeping in my room down the hall. Bart, you can have this room all to yourself."

"Whoo-hoo!" exclaimed the Gnome.

They finished eating the egg, then went to their rooms to sleep. Leshara could not sleep, for every time she closed her eyes, she could see Kogaan's face as she saw it recently on Argus, as it now was. The hideous images that Melissa had seen in Val'sharah were lingering to the edges of her sleep and so she also tossed and turned uncomfortably in her bed. Fizzie, meanwhile, was worried about how she, a small Gnome all on her own, could make her way through miles of enemy territory, where most of them were many times larger and stronger than she was. Bart, however, snored like a log and slept soundly, without a dream in his head.

* * *

When the morning came, they ate their last breakfast in Ratchet before making their plans to depart. To throw off any suspicion, they told any who inquired that they would be going west to assist the druids in Desolace. Only the four of them knew what they were really doing: Fizzie would depart on her own and in broad daylight, while the three of them would disappear from behind the inn. Even now, Bart was drawing the runes upon the ground for his mass teleport spell that would transport him, Leshara, Melissa, and their two mounts to Light's Hope Chapel. Melissa spent a few gold coins to purchase some rations for their journey, then hurried to join them.

They waited until the sound of the flying machine starting up caught the attention of any curious ones who might be pricking their ears and opening their eyes to anything of note happening that day in Ratchet. Once that sound filled the air, Bart called for them all to step into the circle as he spoke the magic words. Immediately they felt squished, as though they were being forced through a very thin pipe that was crushing them from all sides. But no sooner had that feeling assaulted them but it passed, and they could breathe the air again.

But it was not the clean, salt-tanged air of the sea. It was a thick and noxious smell of rottenness and decay. They were in the Eastern Plaguelands, and here death still clung to every blade of grass and every inch of soil. Looking around, they could see the dying woods, dark and diseased, gripping the mountains to the south. To the west, a faint glimmer of green could be seen on the horizon, the edge where the Argent Crusade had successfully cleansed half of the Western Plaguelands. To the north, the sickened woods carried on towards Northeron and the gates of Quel'thalas. To the east, they saw, near at hand, the whitened wall that surrounded the only pure place in this sick and befouled land.

Light's Hope Chapel.

As the three of them made their way past the walls and up to the doors of the chapel, the sound of arguing was heard within the doors of the chapel. Suddenly the doors of the chapel came flying open and a Night Elf was thrown onto the ground before the steps. From out of the door came a large Tauren bearing the tabard of the Silver Hand (still a comical sight to Melissa, who grew up hearing stories of human, Dwarven, or even Elven paladins), flanked by several others. From among them a Dwarf woman pushed her way to the forefront. She was also dressed in the colors of the Silver Hand, but the armor she wore glowed with the Holy Light; add to that her flaming red hair and the expression of rage on her face that would have sent even a battle-hardened Orc of the Warsong Clan running in fear, and she was indeed a fierce and frightening sight in her wrath.

"Foolish Dwarven woman!" spat the Night Elf with a sneer. "I was only trying to save you, and that filthy cow threw me like a toy!"

"Blow it out yer flaming purple arse, ye nancy boy!" the Dwarf returned. "Ye laid hands on him in me Chapel and I cannae stand for that!"

"He will destroy us all!" the Night Elf returned.

"Then fight him on yer own, if ye can!" the Dwarf retorted. "But not in me Chapel!"

"If I can?" retorted the Night Elf. "I am an Illidari, wielder of the power of the fel. Neither his nature or your precious Light has any power over me!"

True enough, the Night Elf was indeed a demon hunter. His glaives had fallen out of his hands when the Tauren paladin threw him out of the Chapel, and he had no horns upon his head; but his eyes blazed with fel fire and his skin was mottled and corrupted by the fel, reeking heavily of sulfur. Though he was lying on the ground, defeated, he held himself with an air of supremacy and arrogance.

"Och!" the Dwarf suddenly said, noticing the new arrivals. She became less angry and more welcoming. "Ain't ye three a sight fer sore eyes. Where's me flyin' machine, Bartie lad? Don't tell me ye broke her again."

"That was a total accident last time!" the Gnome exclaimed. "Those Orcs interrupted my work and attacked your machine. It wasn't my fault!"

"And I suppose that one time in the Highlands wasn't yer fault either, eh?" asked the Dwarf.

"Um..." stammered Bart.

" _Archenon poros,_ Marion," Leshara greeted.

"Same to ye, lassie," the Dwarf returned.

"Excuse us for intruding," Melissa began.

"Think nothing of it, Yer Holiness," said Marion. "This wee purple bastard attacked someone as came to us fer protection. Just givin' him a good smitin' what fer!"

"That is not a druid!" the demon hunter retorted, pointing to another Night Elf who was standing with Marion and the paladins. "That is a demon in disguise! He's been feeding the Legion intelligence from behind our lines; he's responsible for so many deaths, and many more will die unless I kill him now!"

"Hmph!" scoffed the druid. "Absurd! I am no more a demon than any of these warriors of the Light. The same cannot be said for you, Lyvandyr."

"Your lies do not affect me, demon!" Lyvandyr the demon hunter roared, clearly distressed and offended at the druid's rebuke. "I know what you are! Step foot in Dalaran and you're dead, do you hear me? Dead!"

"How do you know he is a demon?" Melissa asked. "What has he done?"

"What has he done?" the demon hunter retorted. "What has he done? What hasn't he done? Look at him, standing there, all smug and secure in himself, thinking he's better than me. I at least am a champion of the downtrodden, the misfits, the rejected; the ones him and his kind reject and shun like the plague!"

"You are an abomination, Lyvandyr," the druid replied. "A corruption of your nature; a blind slave to the power of the fel. You and your Illidari hate the druids because we imprisoned you ten thousand years ago for siding with the Betrayer. Your quarrel with me is a personal vendetta, nothing more."

"Lies, all lies!" the demon hunter roared. "Illidan is a god! A god among ignorant fools too blind and-and timid to appreciate his vision! You druids have been holding us back from our birthright! You are the abomination!"

"Aye, we've all heard this crap before," Marion interjected. "Yer long on talk about how much ye've 'sacrificed' and shite; like ye're the only ones who've sacrificed anything in the war against the Burnin' Legion!"

"We _have!_ " roared Lyvandyr. "Our sacrifice is the only one that matters! So shut your howling mouth, woman!"

"I'd be shuttin' that mouth o' _yers_ double-quick, if I was ye," Marion stated. "Or I'll be shuttin' it fer ye!"

"Again I am oppressed!" Lyvandyr wailed. "Again I am slighted! And it's all _his_ fault!" He pointed at the druid. "He's turning you against me; I am of the Illidari, the last hope of Azeroth, your greatest heroes, and he has turned you against me! He's a demon: just like that filthy human whore Jaina Proudmoore!"

"Okay, that's enough," Melissa interjected. She implanted her staff into the ground, then walked over to the druid, her eyes blazing with Holy Light. She held up her right hand, which glowed brilliantly, and in a voice of authority, she spoke: "Let the Light reveal the truth!" Then she reached up and placed her hand upon the bare chest of the Night Elf druid.

Nothing happened.

"See that, laddie?" Marion said. "If he'd been a demon, he'd have been revealed then and there."

"It's a lie!" Lyvandyr shouted. "The Light is weak! It is a lie. He is a demon! He will destroy us all!"

"Now then," Melissa returned, her eyes still blazing with Light as she turned to Lyvandyr. "Repeat what you said about Lady Proudmoore."

Before he could say another word, the Night Elf was pulled through the air and came before Melissa. She laid both hands upon either sides of his head, and bursts of light exploded from where she touched the Night Elf's corrupted flesh. Howls of pain came from his lips as he writhed and squirmed beneath the Light's wrath.

"Ah! It burns!" cried Lyvandyr. "Save me, Illidan my master! Hold my hand! Please, save me from the Light! Save me!"

She released him and he fell to her feet, sobbing uncontrollably; had he still eyes, they would have been weeping. As it were, the fel fire within him grew dim; even the tattoos upon his body were faint and flickering.

"Perhaps it's _you_ who are the real demon here," Melissa suggested. "Now begone and beg Elune that you be redeemed; your master has no power here."

Lyvandyr scurried away, howling curses and insults at Melissa, the Silver Hand, the druids, and Elune; threatening that they would all one day burn and then they would beg for Illidan to save them and then it would be too late. All those around, meanwhile, were filled with awe at what Melissa had done. Few save for Marion and Leshara had seen her unveiled in wrath; in Pandaria, as the malevolent power of the old god Y'Shaarj infected all those who set foot on that land - including the Pandaren that dwelled there - her righteous indignation had first manifested itself.

Slowly they dispersed, leaving only the party, Marion, and the druid behind, standing at the doors of Light's Hope Chapel. Melissa turned to the druid and bowed.

"I'm sorry, druid," she said. "I didn't mean to lose my temper. I and my family owe a great debt to Jaina Proudmoore; were it not for her, we would have died when the Undead Scourge ravaged this land. Hearing him say those things about her, I suppose I lost my temper."

"Understandable," the druid replied. "Though I regret that it happened on my account. I was merely minding my business when Lyvandyr attacked me in the streets of Dalaran. The Kirin Tor did nothing to stop him when I cried for help, so I came here, knowing that the Silver Hand might offer me some protection."

"What was your quarrel about?" Melissa asked again.

"The Illidari have deep-seated hatred for the druids of the Kal'dorei," the druid said. "As well as the Wardens. Though we have been forced to work together throughout our battles with the Legion, no few of them have abused their place of honor among the Kirin Tor. They make wild accusations, calling us demons and saboteurs of their efforts." He scoffed. "Most of the Kirin Tor leave them alone, while some actually believe their lies!"

Melissa was astonished by this news. As a child, she had read many stories about the history of magic within the kingdoms of men. Of old, magic was always feared by men; their ancient enemy, the trolls, wielded magic, and therefore it was viewed as "troll mischief." Yea, many stories came down from those times of parents burning their child alive, claiming that it was a changeling; a troll's offspring that had been placed in their infant's crib instead of their own child. Dalaran had been created as a sanctuary and haven for those who wished to practice magic free from the fears and prejudices of the common folk. In time, the mages of Dalaran became a _de facto_ magical police force, protecting the realms of men from those magical threats deemed too small for the Guardian of Tirisfal; in this way, Dalaran had fostered favor with the kingdoms in Lordaeron and Stormwind.

Yet to hear that they were now become complacent in the same kind of fear-mongery that had gripped both the ancient humans and even those now living, as had happened in the aftermath of the Broken Shore, was incredible. She wondered how she could have ever wished to be party to this as a child.

The druid apologized to all those around, then made his exit from the scene. Meanwhile, Marion had remained to address the newcomers.

"Well, now," she said at last, after the druid had left. "Now that that's taken care of, what can I do for ye?"

"I know there are many Blood Elves here at Light's Hope Chapel," Melissa said. "Is it possible we could speak to one of them? We want to hear about what happened to them after the Third War."

"Ach, I know just the one," Marion said. "I'll let ye come along, since ye're known to us. But yer companions have to stay in the sanctuary."

"Don't worry," Leshara said. "We'll wait for you."

Marion led Melissa into the small sanctuary of Light's Hope Chapel, while Leshara and Bart took seats at the few small pews within the chapel. The Dwarf led the human priest to the raised dais where the altar usually stood; instead there was a hole in the floor and a flight of stairs leading down into the bowels of the catacombs of Light's Hope. Here the sound of prayers and steel clanging against steel rang throughout the halls, as new recruits were being trained for the Order of the Silver Hand. Down the stairs they went, which wound first this way and then that way, going lower than the lower levels of the upper crypts.

"I'd like to ask something else of you, Marion," Melissa said. "Something personal."

"Aye?"

"How has Hannah been?" she asked. "She hasn't been giving you any trouble, has she?"

"Ach, nae," Marion dismissed. "She's a fine student, she is. A real credit to ye and yer bonny husband. She'll be a fine squire."

"That's good," Melissa nodded. She was still not very enthusiastic about her daughter's decision to join the Silver Hand; but though she disapproved, she was supportive nonetheless.

"In fact," Marion said. "Why don't ye stay here fer a while as I go look fer yer Blood Elf? There may be someone hereabouts as ye've missed, maybe?" She smiled and winked, then made her way with firm footsteps down the hall. Melissa waited here at the bottom of the stairs, amid the young trainees with their instructors.

As she waited, one of the students paused in their sparring to notice the newcomer. From among the students a young girl stepped out; she was clad in the colors of the Silver Hand. Her hair was wavy, a bit past her shoulders, and the same vibrant, fiery shade of red that Melissa had, and she too was small and slender as she was as well. This was her firstborn, the daughter born in a Kal'dorei lodge atop Mount Hyjal at the end of the Third War, and named Hannah after her mother's childhood friend.

"Hannah!" Melissa greeted, a smile upon her face.

"Hi mom," Hannah greeted with a toothy smile. Her mother pulled her into her bosom for a warm hug, despite the daughter's misgivings; she was fourteen years of age and at that awkward age between childhood and womanhood where appearances mattered more in her world than they truly did.

"Mom!" she protested.

"Oh, honey, I've missed you," Melissa said. "I've missed you so much." She pulled her out from the embrace. "How are you doing? Are you well? Have you been eating enough? Are you minding your teachers?"

"Mom, it's fine," Hannah assured her mother.

"I know," Melissa replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. For many long months she had been away from her children, whenever the Alliance had need of healers.

"How's Dad?" Hannah asked. "How are Tal and Mary?"

"They're doing well," Melissa said. It had been a few months since she saw either of them, and she missed them sorely. Many times she longed for a short visit back to her home, but her duties as High Priest kept her swamped with duty. For the present, however, Melissa asked her daughter more about her training, and the content of her lessons about the Light. She was more than happy for Marion Sledgeheart to take her time, so that she could make up the time that had been taken from her and her daughter.

"Will you be home for Winter's Veil, Mom?" Hannah asked.

"Of course I will, honey," Melissa returned. "And this year, it's gonna be amazing. I can promise you that."

"Oy!" Marion's voice was heard. "Ain't ye supposed to be havin' yer lessons, ye wee lassie?"

"Oh, dear!" Hannah exclaimed. "I'm sorry, Mom."

"It's alright, Hannah," Melissa dismissed. "It was my fault. You go back to your training, and be safe, do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Mom."

Hannah ran off to her duties, while Melissa turned to see Marion walking toward her with a Blood Elf woman. She was a bit shorter than Melissa, but taller than Marion. She was lithe and thin, as Melissa was, but there the similarities faded. The Elf had long blonde hair and eyes that glowed green; She was clad in armor of gold and red, the colors of the Sin'dorei. Her face, however, was pursed into a scowl.

"Lady Summersisle," Melissa greeted. "Do you remember me? From the Battle for Netherlight Temple?"

"Hmph, I remember you, High Priest," Lady Summersisle returned. "Sledgeheart said that you wanted something from me; make it quick."

"You fought in the Third War, did you not?" Melissa asked.

"And what if I did?" the Elf returned. "Many of us did; our home was being besieged by a human! And little help came from your people when we needed them."

"I'm not here to argue," Melissa said, trying to maintain her composure. She remembered how volatile the Elves of Quel'thalas became after the destruction of the Sunwell. "I want to know about what happened after the War ended."

Lady Summersisle took one look at Marion, then sighed. "Follow me, priest. What I have to say cannot be spoken in present company." She started walking down the hall towards the under-chapel of Light's Hope. Melissa followed after her, mouthing an apology to Marion, who winked but said nothing. The Blood Elf led Melissa into a separate chamber in the side of the hallway on its left-hand side. In here were many alcoves cut into the walls, where tombs of fallen crusaders sat in their quiet, everlasting slumber. Once they were inside, Lady Summersisle closed the iron grate that served as a door, and then turned to Melissa.

"We were a lost and broken people," the Elf said. "Is that what you want to hear? Does it sate your fragile human ego, hmm? To know that the mighty High Elves of Quel'thalas were broken, reduced to beggars? Our ancient kingdom was destroyed, our magical birthright gone; we were being consumed by our hunger for magic. Our prince, Kael'thas Sunstrider led our strongest warriors to seek aid; what we found was that pig Othmar Garithos."

"Not all humans are like him, you know," Melissa said. "There were others, more tolerant ones, who were willing to help your people. Jaina Proudmoore, for instance..."

"We do not beg succor from anyone!" Lady Summersisle retorted. "All that mattered to us then, as well as now, is the magic. Garithos' alliance was shaky at best, but we needed him to rebuild Dalaran and take its magic for ourselves. But..." She sighed.

"Go on," Melissa said.

"...our prince betrayed us," Lady Summersisle sighed. "He made a pact with a demon in order to find the power that we sought. His hunger for magic clouded his judgment, and he swore himself to the very ones who sought to destroy us in the first place!"

"Who did he make a pact with?" Melissa asked. "Was it Illidan Stormrage?"

"The very one," Lady Summersisle replied. "I remember the very moment when doubt came into my mind. I was a soldier back then, as I hadn't tasted of the stolen power of the Naaru. I knew very little about who we were leading, except that his name was Illidan and that he promised to give us a source of magic to sate our lust. None of us questioned such an offer, certainly not me.

"We were in Outland when it happened. We had won a great victory against the pitlord Magtheridon and his fel orcs and taken the Black Temple for ourselves. I was there at that very moment, when a great burning storm came upon the pinnacle of the Black Temple. The demon-lord Kil'jaeden appeared; he berated Illidan for failing to obey his commands, and gave him a second chance after Illidan begged for his life, calling his failure a setback."

"You saw this happen?" Melissa asked.

"With my very eyes," Lady Summersisle replied. "But what was worse still was that our prince, who had once sworn that he would never stoop to allying with demons, continued to serve Illidan after this; after he saw the demon-lord with his own eyes! From that day forward, I had my doubts about the path that we were upon."

Melissa said nothing, but pondered the Elf's words. Though she had been arrogant at the beginning of their meeting, she could sense that her words now were more meaningful and poignant. She was revealing to her what she had kept in her heart for many long years (and she didn't even have to force a confession out of her either). Now her fears were brought to a deadly certainty: either Illidan was a self-serving mongrel, with no regard for anyone other than himself, or he was an agent of the Burning Legion, willful or no.

* * *

 **(AN: Another long chapter, filled with lots of interesting stuff [like reveal about Leshara's back-story]. We also get a proper introduction to two Paladins: my brother's, a Dwarf named Marion Sledgeheart, and mine, the Blood Elf Learrah Summersisle.)**

 **(Among the many things in this chapter was the fact that the Illidari, because of their favored position in Dalaran, and the unchecked mobility and freedom to act which they have both in Dalaran and among the cities of the Alliance and the Horde, are in a position to abuse their power. After all, we have only their word that our friends and neighbors, even our leaders, are demons; and, like with the druids and Wardens, they may have personal grudges that they would want to have fulfilled through us. In another note, the criticism of the Kirin Tor is more than legitimate: I mean, how can they call themselves "moral" for deposing Normantis, but yet invite warlocks into their city? I know the class hall campaign paints warlocks in a very positive light, but is it not possible that warlocks aren't all that clean as Blizzard wants you to believe? I'm quite certain that, in the days and weeks after the Broken Shore, anti-warlock hysteria gripped both the Alliance and the Horde; to that end, I believe that some shady things went down in order for the Black Harvest, and other non-affiliated warlocks, to escape any repercussions that they may have [rightfully or not] incurred upon themselves.)**

 **(Also, apparently the feminists hate Tyrande [imagine feminists hating strong women] because...get this...Malfurion told her to be quiet during the Well of Eternity dungeon. I mean, it's not like there's demons about and they have to worry for their lives or anything. Yet these same people, who preach that a woman's wishes should be respected, refuse to respect Tyrande's wishes by trying to force her and Illidan together [even though he said the same thing in the _War of the Ancients_ novel; but then again, he told her to be quiet "because he loves her", so it's alright?])**


	8. Gathering Storm

**(AN: I know that those who are still reading this story [if any] will decry all of my characters as "racist." The fact of the matter is that, like with my _Elder Scrolls_ story, everyone in Azeroth has hints of prejudice within them: even the snobs of Pandaria are highly racist [like i've been saying since _Mists of Pandaria_ came out]. I think it's also quite funny that people sing the praises of Garrosh and Sylvanas, while ignoring their own "racist" acts.)**

 **(I have also been looking for decent _Warcraft_ fics to read on here. Haven't really found any, but I did find one that offered an interesting insight into the heroes call board/dungeon finder mechanic. I think that was pretty cool. I can't say which stories, though, because, like when my guild was still alive, and we were running the Emerald Nightmare raid, and we were all on Ventrilo, and someone dropped the name of a...um... _WoW_ fan-film of questionable value [wink], it's kind of awkward to bring that up. I mean, I knew what they were talking about, but saying anything was compromising. And before you jump on my case, yes, I know that I have massive personal failings. But my characters can and should still be moral people.)**

 **(Anyway, back to the story. Here is the official appearance of my main, which I hope will mark the transition of my stories towards the Horde perspective. That's going to be quite difficult, especially since Sylvanas [and Garrosh] have both turned the Horde into something where "Lok'tar Ogar" has lost all meaning. As for my main, he won't be a permanent fixture of the stories, like Melissa for the Alliance perspective. He's more of a side character appearing here and there [yes, I made my main a side-character in my own stories])**

* * *

 **Gathering Storm**

Mulgore. The best land of the Tauren tribes of Kalimdor. Protected from the harsh desert winds of the Barrens, here the grass was green and pines and fir trees from Stonetalon Mountain grew among the heights of the hills. In the northern region of that verdant grassland, a series of mesas rose starkly out of the emerald landscape; atop those mesas was Thunder Bluff, what had once been a meeting place of old for the tribes of the Tauren. Now it served as the capital city for those tribes that had been united under Cairne Bloodhoof in their allegiance to the Horde.

In the mountains to the north of the mesas of Thunder Bluff, far to the north, the air was clean and cool. Winter was still many months away, but the cool of early autumn was already come to these lofty heights. Few sounds could be heard this far up, save for the cry of an eagle or the howl of the wind, or perhaps the tribal drums of the Tauren. It was a peaceful place; but today that peace was disturbed. A flying machine, made by a Dwarven paladin using Gnomish schematics, was on its way to a small plateau high in the mountains. There was no way up hither save by someone that could fly, which was why the flying machine was making its noisy path this way. The plateau itself was small and grassy, and surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs. The southern side fell away into a sheer drop that plummeted down into the valley below without a hand-hold or stair. While on the western cliff face, the stone wall opened up into a cave. How far back it went few knew, for few frequented this place.

The flying machine came to rest on the plateau, and Fizzie turned off the engine and climbed out of the cockpit. It had been a long and dangerous flight indeed; several times she had narrowly escaped the patrols of Orc scouts on wyverns. No place in that bare, tree-less land through which she had flown offered her any possibility of landing if she had to evade sight. Therefore it was a great relief that she had made it this far at all, and into enemy territory no less. As her little boots touched the ground, she examined the plateau on which she stood. The charred remains of a fire-pit could be seen before the mouth of the cave. Fizzie dared not walk into that cave; she knew not what lay in there, and she was, after all, not in friendly territory. She had to be cautious.

Large, heavy footsteps could be heard coming from inside the cave. For a Gnome, they seemed the shake the very earth upon which they trod. From out of the darkness there appeared something easily four times her size, whose large hooves were as big as her entire body. It was a large brown Tauren, with brown eyes and two horns upon its head that curved forward like croissants. The creature was clad in the shoveltusk armor that the Taunka frost-witches of Northrend were known to wear, and strapped to its back was a totem made of a single tree trunk, into which were carved faces of wolves, eagles, bears, and kodos. The large creature eyed the Gnome quietly, making neither sound nor movement, while Fizzie tried her best to not quake with fear before something that, even to a human, would be considered monstrous.

At last she began to speak, or at least try to.

"How!" she exclaimed slowly and loudly, making wide, sweeping gestures with her little arms. "Me friend of Redmane. Travel many days journey find Earthwalker. Big friend Redmane need Earthwalker help!"

The Tauren sighed. "I speak Common, you know." His voice was deep and his tone grim.

"Oh, really?" Fizzie giggled, feeling exceedingly awkward. "Whew! That's a relief."

"What brings you here, little one?" the Tauren asked. "I was not expecting any visitors, certainly none from the Alliance."

"Are you Gar Earthwalker?" Fizzie asked.

"I am," the Tauren nodded.

"Even better!" Fizzie exclaimed. "I was sent to find you by Melissa Redmane. She needs your help."

"Ah, Redmane sent you, did she?" Gar asked. "It's been many moons since I saw her. How does she fare?"

"She, uh, fares well, I think," Fizzie returned. "She says she needs the help of a diviner. You see, we were attacked and the attacker left this dagger..." She produced the dagger. "We were unable to use arcane divination to determine where it came from. Melissa thought perhaps you could help her."

The Tauren reached out with a large four-fingered hand and scooped up the dagger from Fizzie's little hands; she hadn't noticed until then that they both hand four-fingered hands. Silence passed between the two of them as the Tauren examined the knife. Even the wind shifted direction and didn't howl through the walls about the rocky shelf.

"Um," Fizzie spoke up. "I'm kind of in a tight position here, you know, being in Horde territory and everything. So, if you could hurry this along, that would be really great, yeah? Okay, thank you."

"The spirits speak to me, little one," the Tauren said. "They show me what is hidden from your arcane magic. It is as I have feared."

"What is it?" Fizzie asked.

"No," Gar sighed. "I dare not tell it to you, friend. She is in great danger, and the more people who know about this terrible secret, the more people will be in danger."

"I do not fear danger," Fizzie returned.

"Haha," chuckled Gar. "You are very brave, little one. But this danger is of a personal nature to Redmane. The things that I have to show her can only be seen by her eyes alone. Tell me, where is she now? I must speak to her."

"Wait," Fizzie interjected. "How do I know this isn't a trap?"

"You have my word of honor," Gar said. "I intend no harm to Redmane or her family. Nor will I lead any of the Horde to do her harm. Now, tell me, where is Redmane?"

* * *

After her interview with Lady Summersisle, Melissa went to the pews in the lower chapel of Light's Hope. In the walls here were alcoves, where stood the statues of many great heroes of the Silver Hand: Mara Fordragon, Uther the Lightbringer, Turalyon, Tirion Fordring, Vindicator Maraad, and many others. Some of these she had had the pleasure of knowing from her travels: others, like Turalyon, she had heard stories of as a young woman and only recently learned of his existence (and the truth of those stories, which not only lived up to the legend but sometimes surpassed even the stories for incredulity).

While she was thus musing, Marion approached her and sat down in the pew next to her.

"The Chapel is lovely," Melissa said. "I regret that I never came here before these lands were corrupted. It must truly have been beautiful, then."

"Aye, she was," Marion nodded. "I've been here a'fore time, and saw the chapel as it once was. Truly remarkable. But we have striven to live up to th' legend."

"Indeed," Melissa smiled. "I'm amazed at the peace and cooperation among the paladins here, of many different backgrounds."

"It's nae always so peaceful," Marion sighed. "But we do our best t' keep order 'round here. Maybe order is easier t' keep 'cuz we're not a'feared to use force where it's necessary an' do a bit o' smitin'!"

Melissa smiled. Marion was always good company; she was welcoming to all, especially to those who were of a mind to share a drink with her. Melissa was not a heavy drinker, and she had no desire to test her mettle, especially against Marion Sledgeheart. She could hold her drink along with the best of them, men or woman, tall or short; there were even rumors that she had out-drank Chen Stormstout, the famed Pandaren brewmaster. But brew or no brew, Marion was a good companion.

"Who is your leader?" Melissa asked. "I would greatly like to know how you keep order here. The Netherlight Temple could use a few helpful words of advice."

"We donnae have one leader," Marion replied. "See, as we're made o' so many different folk, from so many different backgrounds, the Silver Hand held a vote and established five to rule over our order as a Pentavirate. Four members representing Dwarves, Draenei, Blood Elves, an' Tauren. The fifth is a senior officer, chosen every two weeks, who acts as a mediator o' any decisions the others make."

"Sounds complicated," Melissa said.

"Oh, aye, it is," Marion stated. "But this way, no one person gets t' have absolute power o'er everyone else. Which, by the way, ain't too bad o'an idea." She leaned in and muttered quietly: "Liadrin has been actin' more an' more lately in the interests o' the Horde than the Silver Hand." Melissa nodded.

"So now, where be ye off t' after here?" Marion asked.

"We're on our way to Argus," Melissa said. "To help Leshara defeat a very powerful demon."

"A noble quest," Marion stated. "Th' world could always use fewer demons. I might just be wantin' te join ye, if'n I can get th' leave."

"You don't have to, really," Melissa stated. "It's..."

"Och, nae," Marion dismissed. "I wannae do it. What they did t' Tirion is inexcusable. Me hammer has been too long without smitin' a few o' th' flamin' bastards. I'll be right back, now."

With that, the Dwarf slid out from the pew and made her way back down the hall. Melissa, meanwhile, went back to find Hannah and bid her farewell.

In a few minutes' time, the group was now standing in the outer grounds of Light's Hope Chapel. Bart had reminded Melissa that she left her staff standing in the ground when she went to rebuke Lyvandyr, and she went back to take it. Bart was drawing arcane runes in the ground, preparing to open for them a portal to Dalaran, from where they would make their departure to Argus. Melissa and Hannah were hugging it out while Marion Sledgeheart stood by Leshara: the Dwarf was dressed in plate armor that, as before, glowed with the Light. Slung upon her back was a shield and a hammer rested upon the ground as she leaned upon the haft. Two Argent squires stood nearby, holding the reins of the mounts of Melissa and Leshara.

"Remember to be good," Melissa said to her daughter. "Mind your teachers, study hard, work hard. And remember to be home for Winter's Veil."

"Aw, Mom," bemoaned Hannah.

"I'll say hi to your father for you when I see him," Melissa added, planting a kiss on her daughter's head.

"Tell him I love him," Hannah said.

"I wish you'd tell _me_ that!" Melissa teased.

"I love you too, Mom," Hannah added.

"Alright, ladies," Bart exclaimed. "Are we almost ready? This portal is almost ready. Step inside and you'll be back in Dalaran."

"You're not coming with us?" Leshara asked.

"Oh, yes, indubitably," Bart added. "However, I have to make a quick detour back to Kalimdor. I'll bring along Fizzie and the flying machine." He turned to Marion. "I promise you'll get it back in one piece!"

"I'll be holdin' ye to that, ye wee bastard," Marion returned.

Melissa and Hannah hugged and kissed one last time, then Melissa made her way to the group. Bart was standing in the middle of a swirl of arcane magic and glowing runes, shouting out the magical incantation as a portal large enough for them and their mounts opened up before them. Leshara took the reins of the large proto-drake from the squire, then stepped into the portal. Marion was the next one through, while Melissa took the reins for her owl-seeker from the Argent squire. She gave one last look at Hannah, then stepped through the portal. All was dark and weightless for a brief moment, then suddenly she found herself standing back on the crowded Krasus' Landing in Dalaran.

A dozen thoughts of sadness, guilt, and regret filled her as she recalled leaving her child once again. She knew that it could not last. Eventually she would have to settle down. She longed for that day, and hoped that, whatever happened on Argus, that the Burning Legion would be defeated and that she could retire.

While she thought, there was a loud pop as Bart teleported himself away. This brought Melissa back into the waking world, and she looked around for her comrades. Leshara was leading their mounts to the stable master; they would not need them on Argus. There the air was so thin in the upper regions that neither they nor their mounts could breathe. Their battle would have to be on foot.

* * *

Where the Army of the Light acquired the teleportation beacons that transported soldiers from Dalaran to the Vindicaar, hovering over Argus, few knew. Turalyon mentioned something about a warrior-race, very similar to the Draenei, who had outfitted their ships with this device, but he did not mention who they were or in what part of the Great Dark Beyond they had encountered them. Clearly, however, the Burning Legion hadn't wiped out all life on every other world in the cosmos. These transporters, it seemed, were very efficient. With almost no physical discomfort, those who stood in the middle of the beacon's platform were transported directly to the deck of the Vindicaar.

It was around this transporter that the little group gathered for their departure into the skies. Leshara said that they should go on ahead; Bart would catch up with them in time with Fizzie in tow and their party of five would be complete.

They stepped onto the platform and Leshara placed her hand upon the outer pylon of the beacon. There was a bright light and suddenly they found themselves on board the shining Vindicaar. For Leshara, an inter-dimensional vessel like this was not very strange; but for Melissa, this was something out of this world. Even though she had been here several times before, it was still amazing for her every time she returned.

Once they materialized, they made their way to a table on the lower level. Here they would make their plans for the battle to come. At the table were several maps; most of these were of what remained of Argus. The three largest points of assault were Krokuun, the Antoran Wastes, and Mac'Aree. Krokuun was a broken and shattered valley of shadows, where the Krokuul dwelt in the shadows. These had elected to remain behind to protect those who fled Argus on the Exodar; over ten thousand years had caused them to rue their choice, and now, though they aided the Army of the Light, they held a grudge against the Draenei for the choice they themselves had made.

The wasteland was the site of Antorus the Burning Throne, the heart of Sargeras' forces in this hellish world; the Legion were in the strongest force here. The last point of assault, Mac'Aree, was the plateau where the capital city of the Eredar Triumvirate stood: it had been shattered from the rest of Argus when Sargeras corrupted the planet, and no fel corruption lingered on that floating island. But though Mac'Aree was free of the fel, evil things lurked in the shadows thereon.

Leshara removed the map of the Antoran Wastes from the pile while Marion dragged a Draenei crate over to the planning table for her to sit on and be at eye-level with the taller folk. Melissa came to Leshara's side and examined what was being displayed.

"So, now," Marion asked, as she climbed onto the crate to view the map with them. "What are we doin'?"

"The demon Kogaash was sighted here," Leshara said, pointing to a ridge on the southern side of the map, within sight of the Burning Throne. "He is in command of a legion that is assaulting Light's Purchase. We will need to defeat him."

"How powerful is he?" Marion inquired.

"I saw him crush the armored hull of a war-frame with his bare hands," Leshara replied. "His power over the fel is also very strong."

"My shield," Leshara said. "Is infused with powerful enchantments; one of them from the Battlelord of the Valarjar himself, who bears the Scale of Deathwing. You remember how hard his hide was? Nothing could pierce him."

Melissa nodded. "Yes, I remember."

"My shield and I will lead the charge and keep us safe from his assaults," Leshara said.

"Ach, I cannae abide that," Marion interjected. "What will they say back in Ironforge if word gets out that Marion Sledgeheart ain't the first one intae battle?"

"This battle is personal," Leshara sighed. "Kogaash was one of my people once, and therefore it is my duty to defeat him."

"As a paladin o'th' Silver Hand," Marion stated. "My oath drives me to fight demons an' protect Azeroth."

"Can't you both go in first?" Melissa asked.

"Your hammer can do quite a bit of smiting at my side," Leshara said. "That way we can both go in together without impugning your honor."

"Och, if ye insist," Marion groaned. "But I'm leadin' th' charge next time."

"Definitely," Leshara nodded.

"I will keep you all safe," Melissa said. "This place may be sickening, but the Light still shines here. I feel it, even as I felt it on Azeroth. There will be no need to worry."

"What about th' others?" Marion asked.

"They will be around shortly," Leshara said. "Fizzie will be with us at the front with her short-swords, while Bart will use his arcane magic to aid us."

" _If_ that is any useful," Melissa stated. "The demons feed off arcane magic; that was what brought them to Azeroth during the War of the Ancients, to Dalaran during the Third War, and to Suramar last year. He might be more of a liability than a help."

"Iff'n we had a shaman," Marion said. "We'd have naught t' worry ourselves."

Above there was a bit of commotion, but they paid little attention to it; they were still busy in the planning of their mission.

"Can we do this with only us?" Melissa asked.

"Aye," Marion nodded. "It'll just be a bit harder."

"When have our battles ever been easy ones?" Leshara asked.

"Och, aye, that's true," Marion commented.

"But easy or hard," Melissa said. "The Light has always been with us; whether in Northrend, over the Great Sea, at Orgrimmar, Hellfire Citadel, even at the Broken Shore. As long as we're together, united by our bonds of friendship and brotherhood, the Light shines through us. No darkness will ever triumph over us as long as we remain faithful to each other."

"Damn straight," Marion nodded.

"Without a doubt," Leshara added. Melissa noted that the Draenei was blinking back tears.

"That was a great speech, lass," Marion said. "Meaningful, but good an' short. But when are those wee Gnomes gonna show up? I'm not keen on goin' t' fight this Kogaash with just th' three o' us."

From the upper level there came the voices of Gnomes. The three women left their place and walked back up the stairs to the central hub of the Vindicaar. Behind them was the bridge, where they could direct the transporter to teleport them to any light-forged beacon the Army had placed on Argus. Before them was a throne with three glowing gems floating upon it: these Leshara and Melissa, among others, had fought to acquire, which had caused the Vindicaar to shine with Holy Light as it now did. Behind that was the landing platform, where heroes from Azeroth would materialize, ready for battle.

The three ladies were surprised to see the ones who were now walking down the stairs towards the central hub. Bart and Fizzie were there, true enough; the mage with his tall-peaked hat resting atop his staff, and his ward with two short-swords in sheaths strapped to her back (not the most efficient way to sheath a sword, but her legs were too short for a proper sheath strapped to her hips). But it was the large apparition that lurked behind them which gave them cause. It looked like a wolf, but it was transparent and swathed in mist.

"Welcome back," Melissa said. "I see you have someone with you."

"It was all her idea," Bart stated. "I was completely against this."

"He insisted that he come along!" Fizzie squealed. " _I_ wasn't really on board with this either."

"Who is it?" Marion asked.

The mist gathered around the wolf, completely engulfing it, causing it to grow larger. Then, from out of the mist, a shape appeared. The mists faded and a large Tauren appeared.

"Gar!" Melissa exclaimed, a smile appearing on her face.

"Him!" both Marion and Leshara exclaimed. They knew him as well, though they were not on as good terms with him as Melissa.

"It has been a long time," Gar stated. "Since we were together. But dire things have brought my path across yours again, Redmane. I encountered this one..." He gestured to Bart. "...who mentioned that you were going to Argus to fight the demons. I insisted that I accompany you, as these dire things are of the greatest importance."

"You're welcome to join us," Melissa said. "We will need all the help we can get."

"The Light must truly be with us," Leshara muttered to Marion. "You asked for a shaman, and now we have one."

"I didnae expect a Horde shaman, though!" Marion returned. "One o' yer folk or mine, aye."

"He's a Tauren," Leshara said. "They're not as bad as others on the Horde." Marion mumbled something beneath her breath, but made no further protest.

They briefly relayed their plans to the three newcomers, who were approving of their plan. With nothing further to say to one another, they made their way to the bridge and set their course for Light's Purchase. Light engufled them and the bridge of the Vindicaar shimmered and vanished before their eyes.

* * *

 **(AN: I wanted to make this a longer chapter, as well as a longer story altogether. But maybe we're not ready just yet for a hundred-thousand-word fic like _The Dragonborn and the Lioness_. Small steps, yes; maybe that will work.)**

 **(A few comments about some things in this story. Unlike everyone else, I actually enjoyed the _Warcraft_ movie. Some of the spells I have described have taken inspiration directly from the movie [like the drawing arcane runes and swirling magical energies for teleport spells]. I also gave an "in-universe" explanation for why flying mounts aren't used on Argus; the real reason being that the world is incomplete, like the Burning Crusade starting zones in Quel'thalas and Azuremist Isle. As far as broken worlds go, I have some thoughts about Outland as well, but that's another conversation for another time. Lastly, I liked the part in the Val'sharah quest-line where Tyrande is giving out orders, like she is a dungeon group leader ["Kota, keep her distracted! Lyanis, mend our wounds! Champion, with me!"]: obviously she would, as she is a military leader and would know how to direct her troops. As you can see, I had something similar to that in here with Melissa acting as the group leader [this will come in quite handy if I ever do an epic-fic about the Wrath of the Lich King events, particularly during the Ulduar section of the story]. I also made a subtle nod to _Starcraft_ with the mention of the AotL teleporters, similar to the Protoss technology.)**

 **(Also, before i go, i wanted to add that, in my story, Valarjar is pronounced properly as "valar-yar", not "valar-jar".)**


	9. Retribution

**(AN: This looks like it will be a short story [no more than ten chapters]. Like I said, baby steps.)**

 **(In what could be considered an "original draft" for this story, I had a certain ending planned out for how this story would go down. But it could either end in one of two ways: the first way would have nerfed a certain well-beloved lore character [i'll give you three guesses as to who this character is, which would have made you readers decry Melissa as a "mary sue". The second way involved Melissa being slapped around by said lore character, which none of her companions wouldn't have stood for. This would have ended with a hilarious scene of Khadgar basically being a doofus and saying that, even though they know said person is a threat and that they saw them attack Melissa, they're still keeping them around.)**

 **(So, like with the novelization of _Return of the Jedi_ , which gave lip-service to the darker first draft ending of that movie [the one all of you who praised _Empire Strikes Back, Rogue One_ and _The Last Jedi_ actually preferred over the one we got, I have a moment here of inner dialogue referencing that ending.)**

* * *

 **Retribution**

The burning wastes of Antorus met their sight as the light dissipated. No such place that they had been to in all of their days rivaled the grim darkness of this place. The ground was black and hot, speckled with glowing embers of fel-fire here and there, or in some places raging conflagrations or pools of boiling fel. The air was thick with ash and the smell of sulfur, so that no one could breathe for very long. Doleful howls of the wild demons in this place echoed among the raging infernos, and there was no wind to hide the noise they made.

Melissa had read many books on theology, from the clerics of Northshire and those of Tyr's Hand, as well as the tomes used by the first Order of the Silver Hand. It was an early belief among the human peoples that those who were corrupt, vile, and malevolent went to a burning place of torment when they died; the abode of demons. This was dismissed by the pretentious, "all-knowing" mages of the Kirin Tor as nothing but a myth to frighten children, but some still believed that 'hell' was a real place. There were whispers of an underworld beneath the surface of Azeroth - the Dark Below - where nameless monstrosities older than the Night Elves slept in death-like slumber. Some said that the Shadowlands, or that Draenor, after it had been corrupted by the fel magic of the Orcs but before it was shattered and turned into Outland, were hell.

In her eyes, Antorus was hell.

No sooner had they phased into this place of desolation but they paused for a moment. Gar and Melissa knelt down; she kept her hand on her staff with her head bowed and her eyes closed, while the Tauren felt the black ground with his large, four-fingered hand. Bart, meanwhile, removed from a magically-enhanced pouch of his a bottle of water, from which he drank.

"What a dump!" he exclaimed. "This looks like the kind of place that Rowan would love."

"Who?" Marion asked.

"Tia Rowan," Bart replied. "A...um, acquaintance of mine."

"Acquaintance?" Fizzie asked in disbelief.

"Yes, just that," Bart quickly added. "Remember that time someone asked me to be a character witness for them? That was her."

"Mhmm," Fizzie replied, her eyes still narrow in scrutiny. "Not exactly a decent person, if she'd love a dreadful place like this."

"Precisely," Bart said to her in an aside.

Leshara said nothing, as she looked warily this way and that. This was still 'home' to her, and she remembered it as it was. Though her family had lived in a village on the outskirts of Mac'Aree, Argus was still her home and she had seen pictures of the beautiful golden fields and violet mountains of Antorus. No matter how many times she came back here, she still felt the emptiness of this wretched place: the fields were a wasteland devoid even of fungi or any other thing that fed on rottenness, and the mountains were black and rugged.

"Hmm," muttered Gar, speaking in Common. "The spirits of this place are tormented and broken. Countless years of fire and darkness have corrupted this land beyond recall. There is no water here, so I cannot call upon the spirits for healing or cleansing. The other elements are tortured and mutilated, but I may be able to reach out to them."

Melissa was deep in prayer, calling upon the Light to be with them. After a while, she lifted up her head and gazed into the darkness above. Perhaps it was the shadow that had gripped this world for eons out of count, or some vestige of the Twisting Nether that had been ripped apart and brought with Argus when Illidan brought it to Azeroth; for whatever reason, the sky was always black. At night it was full of stars, while during the day, it was only black, while Azeroth's sun shone as a lone ball of light in the sky that gave little light to this hellish world.

It was day today, and in the black sky could be seen the distant shapes of four heavenly bodies in the sky. The distant sun as a golden orb, and the two moons as silvery-white, one half-hidden and the other fully visible. Here, visible as a massive globe that filled less than half of the night sky, was Azeroth; the darkness that gripped Argus made it appear faint and distant, like an emerald star, from the world below, while here Azeroth was plainly visible and naked. A dark shadow of cloud loomed over one side, while on the other a keen eye could make out the continents of Azeroth, where the Horde and the Alliance played out their endless war.

"There it is," Melissa said at last, pointing upward. "Home. It looks so small from up here."

"Earth-Mother," Gar prayed aloud. "Bring us back to you."

"Amen to that," Bart agreed; not that he was particularly religious, but this place was hellish enough for him to wish that he believed in something.

Now they mustered their courage to walk once again into the mouth of hell. These six then made their way on foot toward the place where Leshara had indicated; she had still the map with them and would direct them as she knew it. As they were leaving Light's Purchase, Melissa changed to see, in the corner of her eye, a very large demon standing within the camp, wielding war-glaives wreathed in fel fire. She had half a mind to call the others to defend Light's Purchase from attack, when suddenly her heart sank.

That demon was Illidan Stormrage.

As she looked at him briefly, she noticed the fiendish grin upon his face; so much like Xavius the Nightmare Lord. He seemed to enjoy this hellish landscape as much as it sickened all of them. Within her came a desire to confront the Betrayer with everything she had learned about him: she held no delusions, however, that he would actually confess to his crimes, even when confronted with the truth. Knowing him, he would have either reveled proudly in his crimes, blamed his brother, or dismissed them as "necessary." Her anger burned hotter in him as, back into her mind, she recalled his destruction of Xe'ra, the Prime Naaru. In light of all that she had learned, another desire came over her: a desire to smite him with the Light, to show him what happened to those that refused the mercy of the Light. But that path could only end in pain: he would attack her, maybe even kill her, and the Kirin Tor would cover up her death, or dismiss it in some way.

She saw him talking to someone; the person looked familiar, but she could not get a good glimpse of the other figure before she turned back to their mission.

* * *

From Light's Purchase they began to move southward, towards the tall ridge where Leshara was directing them. No sooner had they passed the luminous barriers the Army of the Light had erected to protect Light's Purchase, but suddenly they became distinctly aware of their surroundings. A low-pitched howl was heard somewhere in the distance off to their left. Bart squealed uncomfortably and took another sip of the water from his bag (a gift from Tia Rowan, which he had magically enchanted to be larger on the inside and weigh many times less than what was put within).

Suddenly, from the left, one of the creatures leaped down from a cliff that hung over them and came to a sprawling land in front of them. It was a felhound, the dog-like stalkers of the Burning Legion. Where its eyes were none could properly guess, but its back was covered in large grasping claws upon long, skinny arms like tentacles. It let out a low growl and slowly approached Bart, making a straight line toward him.

"Have at ye, ugly!" Marion shouted.

The Dwarf ran at the felhound, shield raised up to the guard. Throwing her entire body into the blow, she collided with the demon shield-first, knocking it off balance and onto the ground. Leshara spared no time in drawing out her sword, a Draeneic blade that glistened with magical crystals about the hilt and pommel, and driving it into the belly of the beast.

"A felhound stalker," Leshara said as she drew out her sword from its belly; glowing with fel, fiery blood. "Mana seekers."

"Oh, um..." stammered Bart. He seemed distinctly aware of the danger he had placed them all in by being with them.

"No," Leshara interjected, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "This place is dangerous to everyone. You are in no more danger than any of us."

"We both know that's not true," Bart mumbled.

"Oh, come off it," Fizzie interjected. "You're safe with us."

"Quiet, ye lot!" Marion whispered. "These filthy demons can hear us as well as sense us."

A roar echoing from the hills punctuated Marion's warning; they had been discovered.

"Fizzie, Marion, on me!" Leshara ordered.

"Gar, Bart, stay back and give them cover!" Melissa added.

A trio of felhounds appeared from around the corner of the cliff before them. Marion let out a roar, slamming her hammer upon her shield, ready for the battle. Bart sent a brilliant, azure missile of arcane magic whizzing from his hand: it struck one of the felhounds in the face, but it kept on coming. A blast of Holy Light emanated from Marion's hammer, striking one of the demons square in the mouth. An acrid smell of burning flesh and sulfur filled the air as the demon writhed in pain. For a moment, it was halted while the other three continued charging.

"Shields!" Fizzie exclaimed to those on her sides. The Dwarf, who was close to her height, raised her shield parallel to the ground, while Leshara did likewise to her. With a yell, the little Gnome leaped up onto Marion's shield, and the Dwarf pushed her up into the air. She landed on Leshara's shield, and made another impressive leap onto the back of the nearest demon, driving her short sword deep into the writhing back of the felhound. The large demon collapsed under the weight of the little Gnome and her deadly knife. Meanwhile, the third one came to a skidding halt as it saw the unexpected attack of the Gnome. Its tendrils lashed out to seize her.

The felhound's tendrils burst into flames, which slowly spread to its body. Suddenly a large chunk of molten rock came flying through the air, exploding upon the demon's body in a shower of orange liquid that clung to it. A laugh came from the bovine lips of Gar Earthwalker.

"Fire and earth are still strong here!" he chuckled. "Even weakened, the elements cry out against the beasts that have tormented them. They long for retribution and we shall give it to them!"

"You dare mock the Legion in our own land?" a deep, demonic voice rumbled. "We will break you as we broke the elements of Argus!"

There was a burst of fire, and felguards, the line-soldiers of the Burning Legion, appeared to fight them. Leshara, Fizzie, and Marion charged at the felguards, the Draenei and the Dwarf with their shields raised. The beasts were almost twice as tall as Leshara, and their axes blazed with fel fire. Leshara knew how to deal with these kinds of demons, as she had fought many of them during the Draenei's endless flight from the Burning Legion. As such, she would shout out orders to her comrades, telling them where to strike. Bart stayed back, trying to cast arcane missiles at the demons, but failed: he wondered why his magic was so much weaker here.

One by one, the felguards fell to the ground, their bodies letting out bursts of violent green fel-fire. Once the last one was dead, Leshara ordered them onward, up the hill to the overlook. As they gained the top, they could see the capital ships of the Burning Legion - large monoliths of black stone and fel magic - hovering overhead in the sky. Some remained in orbit while others were making their way to other worlds, or to the much easily-accessible Azeroth. Ever and anon, a platoon of light-forged war-frames would descend upon them and destroy maybe one or two, then break up as a swarm of fel-bats scurried after them. The endless battle continued overhead, as the Armies of the Light and the Burning Legion fought for control of Argus.

At the top of the hill, they found themselves on a large plateau of black rock. Large pinnacles of rock jutted starkly out of the ground here and there, like twisted fingers of some titanic beast of yore, a fel-corrupted ancient. At the far side of the plateau there stood an Eredar warlord; not quite as colossal as Kil'jaeden or Archimonde, but much taller than even the tallest of the Draenei. He stood out, a crimson speck amid the chaos of green and black: for the moment, he did not seem to notice them.

"There he is," Leshara said to the others. "Kogaash."

"The way is clear," Marion noted. "Let's kill the bastard!"

"Wait!" Melissa shouted.

From one of the capital ships above, a flaming green meteor came crashing down to the ground. It landed but a few feet in front of Marion as she was charging towards the Eredar warlord. From the crater, large boulders began to coalesce around a flaming heart of fel fire. It was not a meteor or a cannon-shot that had been thrown at them, but an infernal. It came to life in a colossal form before their very eyes, blocking their path. In answer, Gar let loose a bolt of lightning that struck the demon in the chest. On Azeroth, so great a blow might have done some serious damage: but here, in its own world, fueled by the fel energies of the Legion, it staggered backwards.

"Destroy it!" Leshara shouted. "For the Light!"

The two warriors and the paladin charged the infernal, striking at its rocky legs. Blasts of lightning and an occasional burst of Light came from Gar and Melissa, which slowly began to eat away at its form. Bit by bit it was falling apart. Marion delivered a stout strike to its shin with her hammer and the rocks shattered. The infernal stepped backwards onto a foot that was now shorter and fell on its back. The three of them leaped upon it, slashing and slamming their weapons into it, until at last the rocks broke and the fire dissipated.

"We have him now," Leshara said.

"Oh, you guys go on ahead," Bart mumbled. "I'm useless to you."

"Oh, Bart, don't say that," Fizzie stated. "You just need to dig deep into your bag of magic tricks and pull something out that these demons won't be able to control or use against you."

"Quickly," Leshara said to the others. "We might be able to take him by surprise..."

The deep voice they had heard before laughed again. If they thought that one of the felguards had spoken before, they were not proven severely wrong.

"You thought you could take me by surprise?" the voice asked. "How pathetic. I have watched your path since we were reunited. Long have I sought this chance, and now, _ekliein_ , it has come to pass."

"Never call me that again!" Leshara shouted. "You've forfeited the right!"

"Why?" asked the voice. "You are still the object of my desire."

The Eredar turned about and began to walk towards them, slowly and determinedly: there was no rush, for there would be no escape for them. As he came into view, Melissa gasped as she saw the exact likeness that Leshara had described to her. But there was indeed something horribly wrong with the Eredar, something different to what had been described. It was like gazing into a dream and seeing a loved one stare back at you, distorted into a nightmarish horror. The skin was crimson red, the eyes burned with fel fire, and the ground burned where he touched it with his cloven hooves. The forearms were covered in spiky, horned growth, such as some of the Illidari had upon their own arms. In his hands was no weapon, but the massive size of his body and the heat radiating from the fel fire upon his hooves and in his eyes foretold of his immense power.

"So," the Eredar said, as he stood before them. "You have come back. I didn't think you had it in you, coward."

"I am not a coward!" Leshara retorted, her face set with steel.

The demon laughed. "Are you, now? You and your prophet fled into the arms of your impotent light, because you were afraid of true power. This power!" He let out a roar that shook the ground upon which they stood. "The power to unmake worlds, to live forever, to be the gods we were meant to be."

"Silence, Kogaan!" Melissa shouted. "We have not come to parley with you."

"I am Kogaash the Annihilator," the demon replied. "I have burned countless worlds in the flames of the Dark Lord Sargeras. You are no match for my power."

"Feel the wrath o' the Light, demon!" Marion shouted as she charged into battle, shield raised up to the defense. With a mighty slam she crashed into the demon's leg, causing him to stumble backwards. Gar sent a bolt of lightning that struck the demon in the chest while Fizzie charged into the fray, aiming to either sever his tail or cause some nasty cuts into his foot.

Bart, meanwhile, who was frustrated at his lack of usefulness, stood behind Gar and stroked his beard, as he tried to think of something. Just then he had a thought which brought a wide smile to his face. If he could not directly attack the demon, he could use his magic to bring harm to the demon in other ways. Clandestinely he fired a small arcane missile at one of the rock spires, then cast a levitation spell on the debris before it tumbled to the ground. With the demon distracted, he would not see what was going on until it was too late. With both hands outstretched and his face scrunched up in concentration, he moved the rubble right over the demon's head, then dispelled the charm. Large rocks crashed down upon the demon's head.

"Whoo-hoo!" exclaimed Bart.

"Insignificant whelp!" roared Kogaash in anger. With one fist he struck the ground, causing a great fissure to break beneath the feet of Gar and Bart. A huge four-fingered leathery hand scooped up Bart, then rushed forward with a gust of wind until they found solid ground with a thunderous clap.

"Thanks, ol' bull!" Bart said.

"Don't mention it, little Gnome," Gar returned.

Leshara, meanwhile, hadn't yet joined the fray. A hesitance had fallen over her; she knew what he had become, but she also remembered all that he was as well. She remembered talbuk rides in the golden fields, summers in the countryside, and the warm embrace of his strong arms. Surely there must be something left of the old Kogaan still in him.

"Leshara!" Melissa cried out.

Stirred from her thoughts, she saw a blaze of fel-fire crashing towards her. She rolled out of the way just before it hit her, but still she did not join the fray.

"Your comrades are brave to stand against me, Leshara," Kogaash said. "Yet you hide behind them? Are you not a coward?"

"No!" Leshara replied. "I am merciful, even to you."

"Mercy?" laughed Kogaash. "Did you show mercy to the hundreds of Orcs you have slain in your life?"

"They slaughtered my people," Leshara returned. "Like you have. But there is still a chance that you can be saved."

"Save me?" Kogaash exclaimed. "How naive. What is there to be saved from? With this power, I am unstoppab..." A strike through his right hoof from one of Fizzie's short-swords sent him back, howling in pain and kicking violently, trying to extricate the annoyance.

"Quite a chatty bastard, aren't ye?" Marion asked. "So much fer yer fel magic!"

"Enough!" Kogaash roared. He slammed his fist into the ground again, sending Marion and Fizzie flying off him. A barrier of fel flame burst from the ground, cutting them off from him. "I will soon show you my full power; if you survive, that is. Servant, deal with these pests!"

An infernal strike crashed into the ground between the flaming wall and the party. Out of the fire arose not an infernal, but an Illidari demon hunter. With a sudden realization, Melissa remembered the figure she had seen talking with Illidan less than an hour ago; the same figure that had falsely accused a druid of being a demon.

"I said that you'd all pay for mocking me!" Lyvandyr shouted. "Now feel my wrath!"

With lightning speed he sped towards Melissa. She scarcely had time to throw herself out of the way to avoid being hit, and fell face-first into the hot, blackened earth. Then in another dash, he leaped at Gar: the Tauren was too slow to move out of the way and took the blow, stumbling backward. Lyvandyr swung his blades and struck Gar in the stomach, cutting through the hide. His war-glaives bore drops of Tauren blood upon them as Gar howled in pain.

"Stupid cow!" Lyvandyr sneered. "Your precious elements have no power here."

"Oh, yeah?" Bart exclaimed. "Well, how about this?" A blast of frigid wind struck Lyvandyr's legs, freezing him to the spot. Bart chuckled. "You may be a demon hunter, but you're no demon. You're affected by magic just the same as the rest of us."

"Not a demon?" Lyvandyr returned. "That's where you're wrong. Master, please, give me power!"

The Night Elf exploded in a burst of fel-flame, metamorphosing into a large demon, similar to the Nathrezim but with a black body. The icy bonds shattered from off his legs. With murder in his flaming eyes, he charged towards Bart. Using a quick and efficient, but short-ranged, teleportation spell, Bart blinked several yards away. But the demon was fast and would not give up the chase.

"Stand still, coward, and face me!" Melissa chastised. With one hand held out, she commanded with her voice and the Light flowed through her, causing Lyvandyr to come to a staggering halt. Slowly she approached the incapacitated demon hunter as Marion and Fizzie circled around behind him. She had yet words to say to him.

"Is this what your sacrifices have all been for?" she asked. "Trading your soul to serve the Legion in exchange for power?"

"Silence, ignorant human woman!" Lyvandyr retorted. "You know nothing!"

"Nothing?" Melissa replied. "I've seen who your master truly serves. Every action he has taken has been to serve his own lust for power. He endangered the world by serving Kil'jaeden."

"You're just as short-sighted and lacking vision as the druids!" scorned Lyvandyr. "As all of the Night Elves! Were it not for the Legion that you scorn, all of your world would be devoured by the Nameless Void! We are the only hope for the salvation of life in the cosmos!"

"Do you really think I'm that stupid?" Melissa asked. "Or as gullible as you are to believe the lies of the Burning Legion? You would save the world by destroying it? Are you so blind that you can't see that you're doing exactly what the lords of the Void want?!"

"I'm not blind, _you're_ blind, you ignorant b*tch!" moaned Lyvandyr. "And your Silver Hand is blind, and your Earthen Ring is blind, and the druids are blind, and-and the Night Elves are blind, and Tyrande is blind. Everyone is blind except for Lord Illidan! He knows that the Light is weak and unable to stop the coming darkness: only the power of the fel can do that!"

"You say that as you stand there, consumed by the fel, serving the lords of the Burning Legion," Melissa shook her head. "And mocking all that you claim to defend. You are the one who is weak, Lyvandyr."

"Shut up!" cried the Night Elf. As the power of Melissa's word of chastisement started to weaken, he broke free and rushed at her. With one swipe of a demonic, horned and clawed hand, he swiped her aside, sending her flying through the air and crashing against a large boulder. She cried out in pain as she struck the rock, bruising her back.

But that was enough to snap Leshara out of her hesitation. The others, also, refused to stand for this; the harm of the one who always had their back for them. Lyvandyr ran towards Melissa, gloating for the kill to come, as he transformed back into a Night Elf. But his lack of vision caused him not to see the little Gnome warrior who came running after him and drove her short-sword straight through the tendons of his left leg. He fell to his knees, crying and screaming in pain.

"I didn't see that one coming!" he shouted. "Curse you, you stupid little Gnome! You will not be the death of me!"

"But I might!" Marion said, as she threw her weight against him. Though the Night Elf was tall, she was short and her center of gravity lower than his; her slam threw him to the ground just as Leshara leaped upon him. But the Night Elf was still determined to escape this fight and held up his glaives to fend off the blow. Leshara's sword struck just at the right place to shatter one of Lyvandyr's glaives and send the sword piercing his chest: it struck his right side, between the sternum and the lung.

"No!" he roared, and kicked Leshara in the stomach with his right foot, pushing her off him. Heaving and gasping for air as his lung pushed against the sword, still lodged in his chest, he pushed himself up onto his feet. He turned towards Melissa, or at least what he thought was Melissa, and pointed threateningly at the empty air.

"You cannot defeat me!" he returned. "I have the power of fel on my side, while your light is weak and pathetic!"

"No!" Melissa shouted. Again her rage began to boil over and her eyes blazed with Holy Light. But this time, bruised as she was, she could not cast all of herself into her rage. As she breathed through the pain, she found herself becoming calmer. Slowly she rose to her feet, with left hand extended out towards Lyvandyr.

"It is you who are wrong," Melissa said. "What good is it for you if you save the world but lose your soul in the process?"

"Foolishness!" Lyvandyr retorted.

"No," Melissa shook her head. "This is the truth. You have made your choice, and now you must live with it. Those who refuse redemption will be consumed by the Light."

"Go ahead and try it, b*tch!" sneered Lyvandyr. "I'm not afraid of your light!"

"You should be!" Melissa said, as she laid a hand upon Lyvandyr's shoulder. "Your hands are stained with the blood of innocents. Your soul you forfeited in exchange for fel power. There can be only one verdict for such wickedness."

Where her hand touched his shoulder, a bright light burst forth. Lyvandyr screamed out in pain, writhing beneath her touch. The Light coursed through his body, illuminating every scar and fel-tattoo that he had placed upon himself.

"No!" he cried. "I won't die like this! I...I cannot die! Not like this! No, no! Please, Lord Illidan, save me! I've...sacrificed...too much!"

"You chose your fate, to wield the fel, and sacrificed your soul," Melissa returned. "Now you must live with the consequences of your actions. You became your scars, now your scars will destroy you."

"No!" Lyvandyr cried out. "This is not what Lord Illidan promised me!" He screamed and cried as the Light filled him all over, finally reaching up to his head and shining through his eyes. There was a bright blast of light, and then silence. There was nothing left of Lyvandyr the Unholy: not even ash.

"Amazing!" Bart exclaimed. "Thought he'd never shut up!"

"Leshara," Melissa said, turning to the Draenei, her eyes still burning with Light. "Now you know what you must do."

Leshara's eyes were filled with tears. "I can't do it."

"Of course you can't, _ekliein_ ," the voice of Kogaash taunted. All eyes turned once more to the Eredar; the wall of fel fire had vanished and the demon had become larger. His flesh was burning with fel-fire, and swirls of it moved about his hands. Suddenly a blast struck Marion, and another took Fizzie. The Gnome was thrown to the ground, while the Dwarf roared in anger and charged back into the fray, throwing herself at the demon.

"Break, child of the earth!" Kogaash said, kicking Marion into a rocky spire. He then turned to Bart and Melissa and spoke a curse in Eredun: they both collapsed under an invisible weight. Bart fell face first onto the ground, while Melissa collapsed on all fours. Then with one hand, Kogaash cast a spell that lifted Gar off the ground and began to crush his wind-pipe. He laughed with delight.

"I've strangled millions of creatures, _ekliein_ ," Kogaash said to Leshara. "They take so long to die, and it is so, terribly, painful for them."

" _Te kano ekto'edos!_ " swore Leshara angrily in Draeneic.

"I believe you will," mocked Kogaash. "But first, I offer you again what I offered you all those years ago. Accept the fel. Become the goddess you were meant to be."

Leshara hesitated once again. Every one she knew and loved was now half-dead, even Melissa seemed broken and bowed underneath his curse. Though she cared little for the Horde, Gar was not wholly without honor and virtue. The death of even one person in this fight against the Legion was a mortal blow, as already many had died: Tirion Fordring, Varian Wrynn, Captain Bradoc, Ysera, all those who had died when Rakeesh attacked the Exodar, the Prime Naaru Xe'ra, the Troll warchief Vol'jin. Yea, even the deaths of the Horde, as welcome as they were for her, were not cause for cheering when they were destroyed by the Legion and used as fuel for the fel. If she could prevent anyone else from dying, was it not worth it in the end?

If she accepted the fel, she could stop him here and now and give them time to leave while she threw him and herself into one of those lakes of burning fel that simmered and broiled just below the ridge. She would certainly have the power, there would be no doubt about that. She could stop one demon and...but was it truly stopping him? She heard about how the demons would only reform in the Twisting Nether after their bodies were destroyed. Was that, then, her fate? To be destroyed and reformed, and be locked in endless battle with the one she had once loved? The centuries had been long and lonely ones without him. Even if it was a cursed existence, she would at least have him.

"Le...shara!" a voice strained behind her. Turning about, she saw Melissa lying on the ground. But she was no longer lying on the ground; no, she was kneeling on the ground. In her hand was the staff of T'uure, which blazed with Holy Light. She could hear a soft, melodious tune, seemingly weak and faint, but unyielding: it carried over the cacophony of fel and doleful noises of Antorus and filled the air about them. The Draenei's heart was touched with a warmth and she felt the age and stress in her bones fade away.

"The Light...endures," Melissa's voice spoke amid the song.

"Still you defy your fate?" laughed Kogaash. "You are a fool!" He turned back to Leshara. "You rejected the fel once before. Embrace it now and we will be together forever. I know that you care for these foolish mortals: accept the fel and I will spare their lives."

"No, Leshara," Melissa struggled. While the demon's focus was on strangling the Tauren and tempting Leshara, the power of his curse was fading over the one person he underestimated. She began to regain control of her limbs and was now in a kneeling position, uttering prayers to the Light, pleading for strength.

"Yes, foolish woman," Kogaash mocked. "Pray! Beg the Light to save you, as it saved Xe'ra from Illidan. You have no power here."

"That's where you're wrong, demon," Melissa returned. "The fel cannot conquer and the shadow cannot endure. The Light's power is here, for it lives in us."

The song reached out to all those around her, filling their hearts with hope and healing their bodies of wounds. Marion, Fizzie and Bart woke up from their attack, a little dazed but otherwise well: they had not died when they were struck, but severely wounded.

"Impossible!" roared Kogaash. "The Light is not stronger!"

"Your darkness has consumed many worlds," Melissa spoke. "But it shall not be vanquished by fighting fire with fire. Only the Light shall cast out the burning shadow."

"Never!" Kogaash returned. "Leshara, _ekliein_ , you cannot let this foolish mortal do this! The fel is the only thing stopping the void from devouring all life! If the Legion falls, your world will be destroyed!"

"I loved what you were, Kogaan," Leshara sighed. "You can still be that. Come back to the Light!" She could scarcely believe what she was saying: in all of her people's exposure to the evil of the Burning Legion, it had never been recorded of a demon being cured of the fel. A fallen Naaru, yes, which gave lie to the demon's words, and those of his lackey Lyvandyr and of Illidan, that the void was stronger than the Light: but a demon? Was it even possible?

"Ha!" mocked Kogaash. "Do you seek to mock me? Shall I bow and scrape like a lowly beggar before the impotent Naaru and beg for their mercy? That I surrender the gift that has made me a god? I would sooner see you burn!"

"Then you have no desire for me," Leshara said, a look of grim resolution in her face. "Only for your own power. You have chosen oblivion..." Her hands gripped the hilt of her sword tightly. "...and you shall have it."

Leshara said nothing more, but charged towards the demon as fast as she could. She leaped off a rock and threw herself sword-first into the chest of Kogaash. Her sword pierced through its lungs. Kogaash let out a hellish roar of agony, and bursts of fel fire erupted from the blast.

"Quickly! Quickly!" Bart exclaimed. "Step into the circle! We're teleporting out of here before that demon explodes!"

For one moment, Leshara hesitated, wondering if she should stay here and die with him. She had lived a long life, and had seen many victories and many more crushing defeats. It would be good to rest. But the thought vanished as she remembered the song and the beacon of Light: the Light was still strong, even here in the darkness of Argus. There was still hope left. With a loud cry, she tore her sword from the demon's chest and kicked off from his body, her hooves landing on the ground. Turning to look back, she saw Marion and Melissa dragging Gar between them into the circle, while Fizzie was squealing for Leshara to hurry. The Draenei turned her back on Kogaash, then sprinted over to the circle, giving Marion and Melissa a hand and pulling the large Tauren into the circle. There was a brilliant flash of emerald light, then pain.

The next thing they knew, the light vanished and they were once again at Light's Purchase. Far away, they could see a brilliant flash as the fel fire burst out of Kogaash's broken body. Leshara looked back for one moment, then shut her eyes: she felt guilty for having doubted the Light or for seeking to embrace the fel in that dark moment.

"Leshara?" Melissa spoke up. "I..." The human looked over her shoulder, then stepped in closer to her Draenei friend. "I didn't want to say anything out loud, but, well, back there on the plateau, you hesitated."

"Yes," Leshara ruefully replied. "I did."

"You weren't actually thinking about accepting his offer, were you?" Melissa asked. "Remember all those things you said at the Heroes Rest? I didn't think..."

"It was a moment of weakness," Leshara said. "Thank the Light that you are mortal, _vrachei_. The burden of a long life is too great for anyone; in the end, it would break you, as it nearly broke me."

"But you didn't break," Melissa stated. "You resisted the temptation. What made you choose to resist?"

"Many things," Leshara said. "I've lived for over ten thousand years without him, after I left Argus: I can face the future without him. And there is still so much more for me to do on Azeroth. And you."

"Me?"

"Yes," Leshara nodded. "You reminded me that the Light is stronger." She threw her arms around the shorter human, who returned the gesture.

* * *

 **(AN: And there is the big battle for this story. We also get our little semi-resolution to the Illidan back-story quest-line. I'm amazed that people still worship Illidan even when the game itself shows that the demon hunters can barely control the fel [and yet everyone believes that Alleria and her crack elves can control the Void, which is apparently bigger and badder than the fel].)**

 **(I usually shy away from using magic in my stories, since it feels like a cop-out. I remember CinemaSins arguing, in one video about a movie where there was magic, that conflict disappears once magic is involved. Since a lot of people complained about the lack of magic in my _Elder Scrolls_ series, I had Bart use arcane magic much more liberally in this story: granted it was difficult here in Argus, with all those demons running around. Also the stuff about the demons hunting arcane magic came from the Warcraft III lore [another reason i don't buy the whole "power is neutral" thing from the nu-lore, or the Nightbourne cheating the system with their little Nightwell. Curse you, Blizzard, for making me quote Jesse Eisenberg's Lex Luthor unironically].)**


	10. Betrayal

**(AN: Having said my peace, I am now much calmer than before; I am also wondering where my story should go from here. I have a few ideas for stand-alone adventures that aren't part of the main quest-line of any expansion [and _The Pilgrim's Road_ is left unfinished, along with backstories for Marion Sledgeheart and her Scarlet Crusade friends, or I could go back to my favorite expansions [ _Wrath_ and _Cataclysm_ ] to tell of our adventures. Or, since my last two "official" stories in my World of Warcraft fanfic cycle are Alliance-centered, maybe my next one should be Horde-centered: what do you think?)**

 **(Some spoilers below for the ending of Antorus, the Emerald Nightmare, and my version of a certain Battle for Azeroth event [because blaming the Desolate Council, the Alliance or, heavens forbid, Malfurion, is too easy and cheap. Maybe there's a reason that the Horde keeps doing all the bad stuff, because Thrall and Vol'jin are the only Warchiefs of the new Horde who aren't genocidal maniacs])**

 **(Speaking of _Cataclysm_ , something came to mind while pondering over the quests from _Cataclysm_ , which involves our Horde shaman, as well as a fan-theory that's a bit more far-fetched than Sylvanas causing the Wrathgate, but leads one to wonder, especially in light of the nu-lore.)**

* * *

 **Betrayal**

A collective sigh of relief escaped the group. Then Marion and the Gnomes broke out into laughter: they of course knew little of what this meant and, for them, they had defeated a very powerful demon. Shoulders were slapped and Fizzie threw her arms around Bart in a tight, squeezing hug. Melissa attended to Gar, moving her hands over his wounds and invoking the Light to heal him. Marion noticed Leshara's vacant, morose expression and walked over to her.

"What's eatin' ye, blue?" she asked. "Hey, I know what'll cheer ya up! Me an' th' boys o' the Crimson Circle'll be drinkin' this Winter's Veil. I doubt ye'd turn that pretty wee nose o' yers up a' that, eh?"

Leshara smiled ruefully, then nodded her head. "Why not?"

"That's th' spirit, lassie!" Marion chuckled, giving Leshara's thigh a gentle shove with her shoulder.

Bart and Fizzie were animatedly recounting the exploits of the battle to each other in one corner. Meanwhile, Gar was awake and noticed Melissa kneeling over him, light emanating from her hands.

"An'she's light shines through you, Redmane," he said. "This is good."

"You need to rest," Melissa said. "That wound was very deep. You'll have a scar here for the rest of your life."

"I care not," Gar replied. "It was a good battle."

"I've sealed up the wound, and dulled some of the pain," Melissa said. "I'll take you to the healers on the Vindicaar, they will be able to take better care of you."

"Not yet," Gar said. "I came because I have answers for you."

"Answers for what?" Melissa asked.

Gar reached into the folds of the leather jerkin about his chest and pulled out the knife that Hannah Mardenholde had attacked her with. Melissa's eyes widened with surprise at the knife.

"I had almost forgotten," she said, turning to Gar. "You know, you could have sent Fizzie back with a message for me."

"No," Gar shook his head. "The spirits have told me that the secrets of this knife are for your eyes only."

Melissa sighed. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Join in the triumph of your friends," Gar said. "Then meet me in a cave on the northern face of the second tallest peak of Highmountain. I will reveal all to you then."

"Why not now?" she asked.

Gar chuckled. "Ah, I forget how little you humans know of the ways of the spirits. They cannot show us anything here on Argus, for the spirits here are foreign to me, and they are broken by the fel and know nothing of your plight. Only in Azeroth will the spirits reveal to us what you must know."

Melissa nodded. "Very well, cave on the north face of the second highest mountain in Highmountain. When shall I expect you?"

"Soon," he replied.

* * *

The company used the light-forged beacons at Light's Purchase to return to the Vindicaar. Gar and Leshara remained behind, while the rest of them returned to Azeroth. Melissa returned begrudgingly back to the Netherlight Temple, and found that Elyssa had no more luck in keeping it together than she had. The Cult of Forgotten Shadows was just as antagonistic as always. Perhaps things would never change. But she was less rebuking than before and simply rolled her eyes at them when they were not looking: she had seen the Light and it was stronger than their shadow.

So it happened that, after three days, while she was praying, Elyssa interrupted her momentarily with a message.

"A courier delivered to one of our prelates a message to you," the Night Elf said. "They didn't say who gave him the message, only that it was for you."

Melissa accepted the note and opened it: the words _It is time_ were written upon the parchment. At first she had no idea what she was being told, but then a thought came back into her mind.

"I need you to cover for me until I get back," Melissa said. "Can I count on you, Elyssa?"

"Of course, High Priest," Elyssa answered. "How long will you be away for?"

"Hopefully not very long," Melissa returned. "I'll be back when I am."

It was a vague answer, but she didn't want to give anything away. She had seen Talen eying her warily from the shadows and didn't want her destination to be known.

It took an hour for her to leave Dalaran by way of her owl-seeker and fly to the second-tallest peak in Highmountain. Up here it was cold as autumn was growing old, and she covered her head with a hood as she flew, her eyes squinting against the cold, biting wind. She flew about the cliffs until she saw the tiny cave on the north side and brought her seeker down thither. At its entrance she dismounted and walked inside. The cave was shallow, and seated inside it was Gar who seemed to be meditating.

"There you are," she greeted. "I almost thought you forgot about me."

"Ah," Gar said, roused from his meditation. "Greetings, Redmane. Yes, I feel that it is time. Come, have a seat."

She placed her staff against the wall of the cave, then sat down on the bare cave floor on her knees. The Tauren waved his hand over a small pile of leaves in a circle of stones that burst into fire.

"Is that safe to do here?" she asked.

"Yes," Gar nodded. "Fear not; this smoke will not harm you. It is only to induce a vision." Melissa saw the Tauren sprinkle something onto the little fire that made it give off a pungent odor: in his left hand, she saw the knife.

"Breathe deeply," he instructed. "I shall ask the spirits to show you what has been hidden from your sight. A word of warning, though: you must be careful with what you see."

"Why?"

"Knowledge can be useful, but dangerous as well," Gar said. "Furthermore, there are dark things among the spirits as well. They speak from the deep places of the earth, whispering madness. I learned this when the Destroyer broke our world during the Cataclysm. You must be cautious."

"Understood," Melissa nodded.

"Breathe, now," Gar said. Melissa inhaled the smoke, trying desperately to hold off the choking sensation that came as it went through her nostrils. She took another long, slow, deep breath as Gar began to chant in Taurahe.

"Spirits of the earth and wind," Gar's voice muttered, speaking now in Common. "Show us what has been hidden from our sight. Show what hands have set this knife to the shedding of innocent blood..."

His words trailed off as Melissa found herself wrapped up in smoke. She waved her hands at it, and as she did, it seemed to dissipate and give way. But what she saw was a terrifying sight: a place of darkness and disease, where the light came not. She could smell nothing, but the signs of sickness and raw sewage were everywhere. She had only seen this once before, during the Battle for the Undercity, when Varian had attempted to besiege the city to avenge the Wrathgate. Into this dark and deathly place came into her vision two faces. One was the face of Hannah Mardenholde, but not as she lived: it was the macabre mask that she saw in Pandaria so many years ago. The second face was hooded, but by the style of the hood, the long and pointed Elvish ears that protruded from secret holes in the hood, and the glimmer of red eyes, Melissa recognized who Hannah was talking to: and it filled her with unspeakable dread and hatred.

Here was the one who had crowned herself Ruler of Lordaeron out of nothing more than spite to the man who killed her. Here was the one who had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of soldiers of the Alliance and the Horde at the Wrathgate. Here was the one who had forsaken honor and left the Alliance to die at the Broken Shore. Here was the one whose forces, at her command, had destroyed the village of her birth and desecrated the graves of her mother, father, and good father Preston. Here was Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen and now Warchief of the Horde.

She was speaking to Hannah; in whatever language they were speaking, Melissa could understand what was being said.

"Are you sure you wish for me to mention them?" Hannah asked.

"Of course," Sylvanas replied.

"But you're Warchief," Hannah returned. "You have the loyalty of the entire Horde behind your back; they swore allegiance to you under pain of death. Is the Desolate Council necessary?"

"Very necessary, sister," Sylvanas said. "The Wrathgate taught me the value of having a contingency, should complications arise that threaten my plans."

"Milady!" Hannah spoke in a hushed tone. "Someone's coming!"

The Dark Lady turned about to the newcomer, a hooded priest of the Cult of Forgotten Shadows. The rotting hands reached up to remove the hood and Melissa was amazed to see none other than Talen.

"Your Warchief listens, Talen," Sylvanas said. "Speak your peace and be quick about it. I have no time for games."

"My lady, I mean Warchief," Talen continued. "You know that I wouldn't disturb you unless it was absolutely important. It's that human b*tch the Kirin Tor made High Priest of the Conclave. She's been making inquiries into our activities; she's poking her nose dangerously close into our business."

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" Sylvanas asked.

"Kill her," Talen replied. "She is a threat to our plans."

 _Your coming was foretold in the rings. The long circle is nearly complete..._

Melissa became aware of another voice whispering softly in her ear. It was not the voice of Gar, or Hannah, or Talen, or even Sylvanas; it was another voice, one she had heard whispered in the depths of the Emerald Nightmare.

"Your plans, maybe, Talen," Sylvanas replied. "If the Cult of Forgotten Shadows cannot keep their own plans secret from the foolish prelates of the Light, then perhaps I have misjudged your usefulness to me. Maybe you should be re-purposed for an abomination."

"No, Dark Lady!" Talen begged, throwing himself at her feet. His lower jaw had long since fallen off, and the ramshackle replacement bore a permanent, mocking grin: now that smug smile belied the terror in his soulless yellow eyes. "I beg you! I am still useful to you. _We_ are still useful to you! This human, she threatens not only me, but you as well!"

Sylvanas scoffed. "How can one human threaten me, even if she is a woman? And a priest at that!"

"The Cult of Shadows has been directing resources," Talen explained. "Towards your campaign in Kalimdor!"

The red eyes of the Banshee Queen widened in surprise. From her thigh she pulled a black dagger and with her other hand she seized Talen's right hand.

"Go back to your temple, priest," she sneered. "And behave yourself. Consider this punishment for your incompetence." With the knife she cut off Talen's right hand. "If this little inquisition into your Cult's actions implicates me in any way, I will take more from you than just a hand. Is that understood?"

"Yes, My Lady! I-I mean Warchief!" Talen nodded furiously.

"Now get yourself another hand," Sylvanas scoffed, discarding Talen's wrist. The priest crawled away ghoul-like out of the presence of the Dark Lady. Meanwhile, she turned back to Hannah.

"I have another assignment for you," she said. "Take this knife: it has been enchanted to resist arcane augury. Go find this High Priest and kill her. If you're caught, tell them that the Desolate Council wanted her dead for prying into its business."

"As you command, Dark Lady..."

Even as Melissa's eyes welled up in sorrow as she saw this revelation, the smoke clouded the room yet again and all was lost in darkness.

"Gar!" she cried out. "Gar, take me back!"

But there was no answer.

There must be something else, Melissa thought. How could she betray her like that? Did she not know who she was being told to kill?

 _At the hour of her third death, she will usher in our coming..._

The mists swirled and she could see the shining, shimmering ocean. A great light, like the sun blazing at the end of the day, glowed upon the horizon. It was a beautiful sight that took her mind away from the horror of that voice. Slowly she began to draw nearer to it, then she saw, with horror, that what she thought was the sun was actually a fire. A great burning fire that burst forth from the heart of the sea and rose up to meet the heavens. It reached out here and there, as if it would grab hold of the sky and pull it down in burning fragments. One such fragment did indeed come crashing down into the sea, but as Melissa noticed it, she saw that it was not a piece of the sky, but a branch. A branch of a very large tree.

 _The king of diamonds has been made a pawn..._

Again the vision shifted and she saw a dark place, one that she had been to recently: Antorus. Into that darkness came the light of a fel portal, blazing emerald in this hellish landscape. As its light illuminated the stones about, she could see a figure kneeling before the fel portal: a figure not entirely Night Elven and not entirely demon. It was none other than Illidan Stormrage.

"What is this thy bidding, master?" he asked the portal.

From out of the portal came a deep, booming voice that shook Melissa's very bones. She could not look long into that portal, for it appeared to her that, in that portal, was a hole into which she would be dragged and be lost forever in the inferno.

"You have failed me, Stormrage!" the deep voice said. "You slew my greatest servants and now fight alongside the mongrels that seek to stop my Burning Crusade! You were to be the vessel for my return to this world: you have much to answer for!"

"It was all a ruse, master!" Illidan replied. "Even so, I have done more than enough for you. I have brought Azeroth to you with the power of the Sargerite keystones. I have destroyed the Prime Naaru. I will soon come to you in Antorus, letting them believe that I will imprison you."

"Indeed?" asked the voice. "How shall I know that you, the Arch-Betrayer, do not harbor ill-conceived notions of betraying the Dark Titan?"

Illidan reached up to the blindfold over his eyes and removed it from his face, revealing the two burning eyes in his skull.

"You have seen what my eyes see, master!" Illidan returned. "You know of my undying hatred for my brother and his people, for the world that scorned me for embracing my birthright. You know that my only desire is power. As your vessel, I will have the power of a god! What further proof need you of my devotion?"

There was silence for a time. The dark entity on the other side of the portal regarded the Betrayer keenly, as if looking into what remained of his being. He had long ago sold his soul for power, and a touch of madness rested upon his mind from his failed encounter with the Lich King.

"Very well," the voice said at last. "Come to me in Antorus. If you refuse, or if you betray me, unending punishment shall be yours for all time."

The vision faded and Melissa found herself still roaming in the world of smoke, with endless whispers over and over echoing in her mind. She swatted at the smoke, but it did not fade. She called out for help, but the whispers grew louder and more intense. She threw her hands over her ears and tried to shut her eyes as the images passed over and over in her mind.

Suddenly she felt something warm brush against her leg. Looking down, she saw the large spectral wolf she had seen on the Vindicaar: the form that Gar took sometimes in his wandering across Azeroth.

"Come with me," he said. "Quickly! Before the whispers take you."

She placed her hand on the wolf's back, then suddenly she found herself lying on the floor of the cave and Gar standing beside the fire, putting it out. As she pushed herself up, Melissa realized that she was shaking all over, from her feet and hands to her head; the dread of what she had seen still clung to her.

"What happened?" she asked. "What were those voices? I...I remember hearing them before, in the Nightmare."

"Yes," Gar nodded. "The whispers. I first heard them in Northrend, in the Grizzly Hills. They almost broke me during the Cataclysm."

"Why's that?" Melissa asked.

"Those whispers were from the old gods," Gar stated. "The ones who corrupted the Keepers of Ulduar..."

"I'd rather not talk about Northrend right now," Melissa sighed. "Do you not remember the pact?"

"Yes, I remember," Gar nodded. "But I have been forced to do much inner searching regarding this matter. During the Cataclysm, I was led to believe that the elements, the spirits that spoke to me, were nothing but the whispers of the old gods. I...I almost lost myself with rage and confusion."

"Oh, Gar..."

"To think of it," the Tauren muttered. "That the spirits of my ancestors, the elements, have been the maddening whispers of evil things. I almost gave up all that I knew and believed in."

"But you didn't, did you?" Melissa asked.

"No," replied Gar. "I remain open to the words of the spirits: if I do wrong in this, I will accept the consequences of my actions to whatever end."

"But how can you tell," asked Melissa. "If the spirits you hear are good or bad?"

"That, my friend," Gar sighed. "Is the question whose answer I haven't yet found. For now, I believe that when the spirits speak words of honor and the value of life, then their words are not from the old gods."

Melissa nodded, but she still couldn't wrap her head around all this talk about the spirits. Shamanism was something that she still did not understand, though the Draenei and Dwarves certainly did. Rather, her thoughts turned once again to the vision she had seen. Ever since her encounter in Pandaria, Melissa had always believed that Hannah Mardenholde, her childhood friend, could be saved and redeemed from the curse of undeath. Instead it appeared that she was willingly serving the Banshee Queen. There were few people whom Melissa had heard of whom she considered beyond redemption: among those were the lords of the Burning Legion, the Lich King, Garrosh, Gul'dan, and Sylvanas. If her Hannah was wilfully serving Sylvanas, then it seemed that she was "her Hannah" no more. With this new revelation there dawned the reality that, at some point in the near future, she would have to confront Hannah Mardenholde once again, for the last time. When that day came, she wondered if she would remain as stalwart as she had been three days ago on Argus, or if she too would crumble before what had to be done. She could not dwell long in thoughts of "what had to be done", for she feared what they would entail for her.

For the present, she realized once again that the trust of the Kirin Tor in the person of Illidan Stormrage was misplaced. Whatever would happen in the Burning Throne would spell doom for the whole of Azeroth. If Illidan was indeed serving the Burning Legion, then giving him to Sargeras would be playing into the hands of the Dark Titan. But if, as Talen, Natalie Seline, Lilian Puck and the lords of the Legion believed, that the lords of the Nameless Void were a far greater and terrible power that only the Legion could assuage, then would not Illidan's assistance in destroying the Legion endanger Azeroth? Darkness was certainly rising to snuff out the Light; Illidan's destruction of the Prime Naaru Xe'ra and Alleria Windrunner's accepting of the powers of shadow were certainly proof of that.

Then there was also the threat of war here on Azeroth. Vol'jin, like Thrall, kept a tenuous peace between the Horde and the Alliance during the campaign on Draenor. But Thrall had vanished since the Broken Shore and Vol'jin was dead. Even were it possible to excuse Sylvanas' dishonorable retreat as a tactical decision to save the lives of the Horde, her actions in Stormheim meant that a reckoning would soon be coming. Dark days lay ahead for Melissa Redmane, both on the microcosmic and macro-cosmic scales. What could she do in such a world?

She bade farewell to Gar, then left the cave to mount up her owl-seeker and return to the Netherlight Temple by way of Dalaran. As she took wing into the cold air of the upper regions of Highmountain, she looked back eastward, across the Great Sea, to her home. She prayed for guidance, and suddenly a calm came over her as she flew through the air: she felt so light that she believed that she could float down to the ground without harm. Yet she remained on the seeker's back, for she heard a voice speaking to her in her mind yet again: the same voice that had spoken to her in the glade all those years ago, when she began her journey.

 _Do as you have always done, child. The Light will guide you._

Melissa Redmane smiled.

* * *

 **(AN: Before we leave, I just want to clarify this one thing: whenever she appears in my stories [which this is the first time being, Sylvanas' voice is the original one from _Warcraft III_ and _The Frozen Throne_. I love _Wrath of the Lich King_ , but one thing I have never gotten over was how they made her voice sound sharp and raw like the buzzing of guitars on a black metal song.)**

 **(I think we can bring the story to an end, for now. We have some kind of resolution, as well as the revelation that darker days are on the horizon [as well as what our hero must do for those days].)**


End file.
